


Salvation

by waywardriot



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Redemption, Trauma Recovery, i promise things get better!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: With an outstretched hand came a connection, and Vanitas learned that not all hands are meant to hurt.(After Xehanort, the lights took Vanitas in and showed him what it meant to be free.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically, this fic is saying "fuck you" to everything kh3 did to vanitas. i will take a hammer and FIX the canon
> 
> this chapter is a little different from the flow of the other ones because it's more narrative, but it's important!
> 
> for the ending quotes, i mixed the japanese and english because some of the jp ones are much better

Hope.

Something tossed throughout the stark halls, various dreams and desires for the new, next existence; despite the common denominator of gold shoved inside them, they all hoped for different things. They hoped to be whole again, they hoped to love others, they hoped to _live._

Vanitas held only pain and anguish in his heart, but there was one hope—the hope to not exist once again.

That was what his life really was, right? He was hurtling towards death right from the start; his purpose was to destroy himself, destroy his other half. It was stuffed into a prettier package, promising the return of _himself_ and the end of pain.

That didn’t work, though—it was all a lie, and despite the new promise of another chance at completion… he knew that would only lead to death. He had accepted it a long time ago, and he embraced it, he fucking relished in it.

His life had always been pain, from the very moment he was born into this cruel, unfair world. Split apart, rent from his other half in the worst way possible. It was a pain no one other than Ventus would be able to understand, but he had relief, anyways. He had a home and family, while Vanitas had endless dust that filled his mouth and the promise of death and ruin and war.

Vanitas lived to train, to hurt, to kill. He was a monster, an abomination, a mistake, and he knew it better than anyone. He didn’t need his master to scream it at him, although he still did, of course. All the pain was to make Vanitas stronger, he said, but all it did was make Vanitas want to die more—but maybe that was stronger ( _the master never told him what that truly meant, so what was he meant to believe?_ ). He worked himself harder and harder to fulfill his purpose, slashing down his emotions until he laid in the dirt and vomited up blood so black it looked like pure darkness. After that, all he could do was stand up and start over again.

No matter how he tried, there was always _more._

All this pain made it easier to accept his ‘death’ the first time, at least. In his last moments, his heart allowed the vulnerability of a boy broken beyond belief to show, a child hurt by every damn person he’d laid eyes on. In that moment, he was too damaged to hide it; he just let himself fade away and tried to hold on to those sweet moments where nothing hurt, and he hoped that it was all over. He failed his real purpose, to forge the χ-blade, but here was the release he had been aiming for all his life. Here was the metaphorical edge of the cliff he had been teetering over since he was ripped apart; he was throwing himself into the path of a raging wolf, falling onto spikes, plunging into the depths of the ocean, never to return.

The best part of it all was that he took his worse half down with him. Now he could experience the suffering and loneliness Vanitas knew.

Or so he thought.

The next ten years were a dream, literally and figuratively. 

Within the boy who had his face ( _it’s his it’s his something has to be his_ ), he lived in a haze that pulled his heart back together without his consent. He was so goddamn close to no longer existing, but that child took away from him.

He had been shattered so thoroughly that he was barely conscious of what went on, but he remembered fragments of a stolen life snatched through stolen eyes. Years of seeing what he could have had, right there where he could all but reach out and touch it.

His sense of self had been all but ripped from him by the breakdown of his heart, but he retained hate and negativity because _that was all he was anyways._ It was only when he was torn back into real existence that he realized what a haven it truly was; it didn’t hurt like everything else in his life, only loosely tying him to the plane of the living.

While it was peaceful to have an existence like that, the worst part was that his worse half was there, sitting at the edges of his awareness and mocking him with his _hope._

He wasn’t sure if Ventus was aware of him, but Vanitas always knew where his other half was; there was a red string tying their hearts together, one that Ventus’s emotions danced along before finding their way to a dark heart. In this haven, he still had to feel those sickeningly good emotions with even more strength than before, as there was nothing shielding his heart.

Not only did he have to experience a stolen life, but he still had to experience stolen emotions—Ventus’s idiotic fucking _hope_ and _love_ for his stupid, insignificant friends who were already lost. Vanitas was trapped between two evils; one, disgusting him with the normalcy and idealness of a child’s life, and the other, digging its claws into his heart and mocking that _no one would ever love him like Ventus, he doesn’t deserve love like Ventus._

Because he was _no longer Ventus, never would be Ventus._

But now, it was starting all over again, and he was back to his original mission, although in a different way.

No, he had failed, the master told him. He was wretched, a mistake, a failure, and now everything had to be changed because of him. The entire goddamn plan was ruined because he was too incompetent—the χ-blade was no long in his heart’s reach. He couldn’t be trusted to do anything on his own, so he was just instructed to find his _~~better~~_ worse half for the final battle. There, he could end him, and things would work out like they were supposed to.

He knew he was just being told that, that he would die, and he was okay with that. Maybe it would be permanent this time. And thus, he set off to find the pieces he _~~wanted~~_ needed.

The heart was easy to find, as how wouldn’t he be able to find that heart that _~~shielded~~_ imprisoned him for a decade? The boy was pathetically stupid, and Vanitas could have had him in an instant. Sora depended on his _friends_ to save him, and he stood there with those wide naïve eyes that looked so much like Ventus and he said his name like he remembered and Vanitas was so close, _so close his hands shook and he couldn’t breathe couldn’t think couldn’t do anything but yell—_

—and then he was thrown through a door, two, three, four.

He kicked and screamed and raged until his throat was hoarse and his fists bled, and then he wiped his eyes and returned, back to square one.

Simply enough, he realized the very moment Ventus’s body was free. The red string pulled on his heart like a fishhook bursting from water, threatening to rip it straight out of his chest, and he followed it. It was no wonder he couldn’t find his _ ~~their~~_ his _ ~~their~~_ body—his other half’s stupid friend had played a _~~clever~~_ dirty trick. She and those other idiots seemed awfully surprised to see Vanitas there, but why wouldn’t he be? He felt better around this body because it was _~~theirs~~_ his and it always would be, no matter what his light said. He was drawn to his body like a magnetic pull, and there was absolutely no way they could keep him away from it forever.

And, of course, it was stupidly easy to get Ventus to wake up; all Vanitas had to do was threaten his precious friend the way he did all those years ago, mime as if he was going to plunge his Keyblade into her flesh and rip her to shreds. He _~~wouldn’t~~_ would have followed through if Ventus didn’t show, but show he did, and Vanitas was positively _elated_ as another piece fell perfectly into place. Ventus looked at him with bright eyes, finally unclouded by sleep, and he wanted to force his way into him, smash his sharp, jagged edges into Ventus’s soft flesh until they bled and bled and bled as one, light and dark gushing from their veins.

But he didn’t. Now was not the time, and he was not going to face these lights, not this way.

They couldn’t see it, but he smiled behind his mask, all incisors and bared teeth and taut lips. “I’m just certain that he’ll come to visit,” he said with a grin in his voice, and he knew he was right. Neither him nor Ventus could resist the pull, and they would always come back to each other, back to tear and pull and rip apart until they disappear like dictated in a dusty book neither of them remembered.

No one heard Ventus’s words, uttered under his breath.

“I’ll bring him back.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Vanitas had been defeated once again, and that was how it would always be, right? He was a failure, a pathetic fucking excuse for an existence. He didn’t even bring Ventus down with him, but at least it was enough to still form the key—maybe his master wouldn’t be so disappointed if he had forged it, but he guessed that didn’t matter.

Because he was finally, _finally_ going to die.

Vanitas was trying so hard to hold himself together, trying to weave the unraveling strands of his existence back in, and he was left unguarded as his mask shattered and left him feeling as vulnerable as the day he was ripped into existence.

Sora was baffled by his face, and despite Vanitas’s pain, it was wonderful for him to watch, to see Sora feel the confusion he once felt. He was the boy’s dark mirror; the hair and eyes, of course, differed, but the contrast—his pain—was reflected in other parts of his face: the bags under his eyes, his torn lips, the hatred _ ~~longing~~_ hatred _ ~~loneliness~~_ that shone from every pore.

“I’m the piece of Ventus that was taken away, and you’re the piece that Ventus needed to be whole again,” he rasped with a raw throat, motioning to himself and Sora, cupping invisible shards in his hands. “Why shouldn’t you and I look exactly the same? You define me, Sora, the same way that Ventus does.

“We are brothers in arms who, together, make a greater whole.”

Sora clenched his fists in pure anger and frustration, something Vanitas was taken aback to see—not because Sora was angry, but because it _wasn’t malicious, wasn’t meant to hurt him._ “Then why won’t you stand by our side?!” Vanitas didn’t know. “Instead of with darkness? Isn’t it okay if we just work together?”

Vanitas supposed that he did know, though, as dictated by the echoing words of his master. What else was he but the lack of light? What else was he but the living proof that his half was worse, a monster, something to be thrown away and destroyed over and over? What place did he have standing next to those who shone so bright he wanted to tear their hearts out until he could see?

“Because I… am darkness. I do stand by your side—I’m the shadow that you cast. Because of me, you can both belong to the light and exist there,” he spat out bitterly, “That’s working together, all for you.”

Sora began to object, but Ventus cut him off perfectly, echoing what he was going to say; they were so similar that it made Vanitas want to retch. “But I didn’t ask for this,” he whispered solemnly, yet firmly. “To be sifted apart, nice and neat, light and darkness. We should be free to choose. Not just light, not just darkness. We decide who we are. We decide how to live our lives freely.”

Vanitas laughed—there was Ventus’s goddamn naiveté. How could he think that Vanitas could have _ever_ had a true decision? There was a mockery of it, but only one offer: the darkness that laid at the end of every path. He simply chose what would steer him to his end faster. 

There was no way he would let that out of his heart, though; that was weakness, and he was strong than his light. He _had to be._

“I did decide. I’m living freely, like this.”

“How is being chained by darkness anything like living freely?” Ventus demanded, his eyes glossy, fists clenched. Vanitas wanted him to punch him.

“What I am is darkness. That’s the life I chose. No—no one else.”

A pause. 

“Okay.”

And with that stutter and those pained eyes, Ventus understood.

Sora began to protest, wildly flailing his hand out to Vanitas. “Ventus, I don’t understand! I don’t know him, but couldn’t he be one of us? How could you just—”

“I know,” Ventus smiled, turning to him. With that, he outstretched a hand to both Sora and Vanitas. “It’s _not_ okay.”

Unsurprisingly, Sora was confused but still took his hand, and they both reached out to Vanitas. He stared at them dumbfounded, never having seen a gesture like this; no one had _ever_ reached out to him, offered him a hand that wasn’t meant to hurt.

He almost couldn’t comprehend this action; he was being torn in half—ironic, painfully ironic—one half desperately wanting one moment of weakness, a chance to be free, but the other half wanted to rip and scream until the two people in front of him balked from fear ( _as they should_ ).

His thoughts were becoming hazier, falling apart at the seams and melding together, and he could see wisps of darkness coming off of his body. He stared at his hands, watching the fingertips waver in and out of existence. “Why?” he croaked, a question directed at both Ventus and himself.

“You didn’t choose to be darkness.”

“Yes, I did!” Vanitas snarled. He couldn’t be anything else. Wasn’t allowed. “I accepted it! I tried to kill you, over and over and over! I would’ve killed your friends! I planned to!”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Shut the hell _up!_ ” Vanitas shrieked, more darkness twisting off of him with his seething _~~fear~~_ anger. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! You don’t know me!”

Ventus reached his hand out further, stepping closer to Vanitas, who staggered backwards, horrified by the tenderness being offered. “I do know you. We make a greater whole, like you said.

“You didn’t ask to exist like this. It was Xehanort who dealt you this hand, right?”

Vanitas choked out a sob at the mention of _his_ name. God, this was so humiliating and painful that he wanted to just scorn these two lights and die as he was meant to. Long ago, he’d learned to temper his tears, but now he was bawling like a goddamn baby over a name. _His_ name. 

Vanitas was the ‘prized’ apprentice, the first one he needed for his plans. The first one he threw in the dirt and told what to do. The first one he melded as he pleased. Vanitas was doomed from the moment of his birth, wasn’t he?

And he understood, for a few precious seconds. As his body tried to fade away, the walls around his heart exposed the little spark that hid underneath layers and layers of darkness, a pinprick of light that had faintly existed for a long time.

“I’m darkness,” he insisted, one last time. He tried to wipe his angry tears away, and more of his mask shattered, pieces falling to the ground with a soft noise, swirling up dust and catching the last rays of sun. For a moment, they flashed and looked like fragments of pure light. _How in the world could those have come from him?_

“Maybe. But everyone has darkness. All the Guardians have it.”

“Some more than others,” Sora chimed in, with a bittersweet smile.

“You need me, and I need you,” Ventus continued solemnly, a half-smile still on his face. Vanitas could see his exhaustion, the way his arm shook with the effort of keeping it outstretched to him, but his light refused to put it down, to give up that chance. He moved ever closer, so gracefully it almost seemed like a dance. Glass crunched under his feet.

Vanitas’s voice shook with a lie—“I don’t need you. I’ve never fucking needed you.”

Ventus dutifully ignored his assertion, and Vanitas resented how he brushed it off like it was so goddamn _inconsequential_ to him. “It doesn’t have to end here. I’ll lend you my heart.”

“Mine too!” Sora grinned, matching Ventus’s steps closer and closer to the darkness.

“We won’t let you die. I won’t let you go alone.”

Vanitas put his head down, and he _cried._ Put his face in his hands and felt the sharp edges of his mask cut into his palms through his gloves. He wept like a child for all the things that were lost: his childhood, his chance to grow up, his chance to make friends, his chance to not be in pain. He could feel the light reaching to him, swirling down the tender, raw red string of fate and digging into his chest. It hurt, but in a good way—something he had never experienced. 

It was like two puzzle pieces in his heart connected, and he knew what hope was for the first time. Hope was the two outstretched hands. Hope was the smile that reached blue eyes. Hope was the mask that shattered.

Hope was the ever-existing spark that blinked in his heart, one no one ever knew existed.

“Okay,” he whispered in an echo of Ventus, and he placed his hands in the others’, so tentatively that it felt like a butterfly landing. Sora used the hand to pull him closer, and his overjoyed face showed Vanitas that he was going to be accepted wholeheartedly. Sora wore his heart on his sleeve, and Vanitas laughed at his foolishness, but in a non-malicious way that felt strange.

The kindness stung his skin and burned his throat, but he resisted the urge to do what he had been made for.

Just this moment, just this one moment of weakness.

Ventus gave him the softest squeeze, and he felt _something_ for him that wasn’t hatred. The soft blue eyes told him he would be okay, he could exist, and Vanitas suddenly realized he was willingly putting himself in someone’s hands for the first time. He squeezed his _~~worse~~_ better half’s hand back, willing his emotions to travel over; he needed Ventus to feel his pain and his sadness, to feel his suffering, to know why he did what he did. Ventus cocked his head and grinned, and Vanitas knew he had been accepted, for whatever reason.

With the warm hands resting on his own, he felt light crawling up and down his veins, twisting with the dark strands and weaving it into something more, something _alive._

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” he said with a smile and fire in his eyes. The last of his mask cracked and fell to the ground, and the sunset slanted over his face; it was illuminated in shades of golden and red and orange and _hope_ as it was fully shown to the world for the first time in years, and he _~~was~~_ wasn’t going to hide it.

For that moment, he would let this happen. For that moment, he would allow something more.

“We’ll go together.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A connection is severed, and another is forged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers! it sure has been..... over a month. life has been a lot between school/midterms, health, writer's block, blah blah
> 
> i'm SUPER messing with the details of the plot because fuck you, nomura, you did vanitas so dirty.
> 
> i'm not super confident with the chapter because narrative style and there's a lot of prose and exposition but i hope you still enjoy o|-<

“We’ll do it together.”

As his mind stitched itself back together, Vanitas didn’t think he would be able to follow the others. All these platitudes about ‘following your heart’ and ‘guiding lights’—it made him sick. Well, he had already vomited many times, but this made him figuratively sicker.

He had stumbled along with his other half, exhausted from battle but knowing it wasn’t over. Would it ever be over? Would the pain, the suffering, the anguish ever be over? He felt like he was in an endless cycle, the world swallowing him up and spitting him out in pieces. It didn’t feel _real_ that they had any possibility of defeating Xehanort. He was the plague that infected Vanitas, crawling down his throat and seeping into his lungs until they turned necrotic. He was always there.

Ventus supported him through the fear, one arm around Vanitas’s waist, half-dragging him along. The darker half just wanted to sleep, maybe forever, like he almost had before someone cared enough to reach out. He had been _so close_ to telling them to shove their hope up their asses so he could finally die… but he decided that if he had any chance to end that monster, he would. The _~~best~~_ worst it could do was kill him.

Now they had to follow him, follow Sora with his fucking _light_ to go face the possible end of reality as they knew it. Vanitas didn’t think he would be able to follow the others. All this simpering bullshit about ‘following your heart’ and ‘guiding keys’—it made him sick. Well, he had already vomited many times, but this made him figuratively sicker.

And fuck them all, it worked.

It was probably only because Vanitas had his own light by his side to guide him, but he was still able to make it to Sora, feet landing gently on the ground. They were all standing side by side, and Vanitas’s vision tunneled. The others were rambling about something, but his hearing was filled with static, and his eyes clouded over with old—but not forgotten—pain.

There was nothing else in the whole world other than this moment, this place, this man.

This man who looked at him and told him he was nothing better than a tool: just a monster for him to build up and break down over and over _and over and_ —

This man who chewed him up and spat him out; he tore into him, ripping at his bones and muscles and organs, shaping him until he was something _new_ , some horrible amalgamation of the worst parts of Ventus and Xehanort, a Frankenstein of emotions.

Looking into the gold eyes that so matched his own filled him with nausea. He had once grown to like them, to take pride in his mark of his darkness and his master; now, they were a beacon of his pain and mistreatment at the hands of someone who should have raised him into his own person, not cracked his very being open. He broke many a mirror in an effort to _get them to go away, stop staring at him stop looking at him stop seeing him—_

He didn’t know if his eyes would ever change, although he hoped for it so badly. Xehanort was so integral to who he was, what he has been since he was born—it was hard to even form his own identity. Vanitas still wanted his matching eyes to be the one of the last things _~~his~~_ the master saw, a mirror of who he could have been and all the agony he caused in his pursuit of power.

When all the lights—along with one darkness—had made it to Sora, Xehanort was already on his last legs. Vanitas’s chest filled with something like pride because that was _his_ brother-in-arms, and it was utterly confusing and uncomfortable. He’d never felt pride in anyone but himself because _who_ else would deserve it?

Apparently, that someone was Sora.

Sora was in the center, the place he belonged all along, even if he wasn’t meant to be special. He had linked all of them together in the first place, connecting them inexorably; it pulled them from the brink and gave all of them a _chance._ Vanitas stood behind, but still centered, as he belonged—he stood in the darkness, the shadow Sora cast that existed for him. Ventus remained by his side, and gently, he reached over and squeezed Vanitas’s hand… and he squeezed back. Every touch felt like it was weaving his body back together again, keeping him from flaking away into darkness.

They let go and put both their hands on their Keyblades, raising them into the sky, right at the _~~man~~_ monster who caused so, so many people pain. Vanitas knew he would never know their kind of pain, the damage from losing friends and even yourself; though, on the reverse, they would never understand _his_ pain. The closest was Ventus, but even he still was ignorant about most of his treatment, and that was the way it should be. That was how he protected his light.

Instead of wanting Ventus to feel his agony, he wanted him to be… safe. That was what he had always done, right? Stood in the darkness, let it destroy his heart so that the others could be in the light. If he didn’t exist, Ventus would be the cold, empty vessel, the boy who had his chest ripped open and stuffed to the brim with darkness. His eyes would be the piercing gold that would linger in the mirror.

He took a deep breath with all the others. It felt like that moment lingered forever, the moment of hesitation and fear of the unknown. This was the culmination of decades that preceded them.

And then there was _light_ and it was _beautiful_ to Vanitas for the very first time.

Then… he was gone—there one second, gone the next, no acknowledgement of the world he was leaving. Gone to wherever souls that were done go; Vanitas hoped he was gone forever. The other master’s heart followed along, but Vanitas hoped he would never get to Xehanort. He deserved to disappear before he ever spoke to another person he hurt.

Vanitas thought that would be him, just a short time ago. He was so sure that he would disappear into the sky, finally free, all that was left of him being cruel memories that lingered in the minds of people he hurt.

Then, the hearts faded into the sky, one after another. As soon as they were gone and a collective breath was released, Vanitas crumpled to his knees, the pain that tinged his vision fading to black.

He had run out of time; the spark in his heart was buried once again, and it felt heavy in his chest.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
He wished he had a mask still, but the glass still laid in the dust somewhere, shattered like his mind. Now, he was vulnerable, surrounded by people he’d tried to kill and people who _despised_ him. And for good reasons.

There was no reason not to kill him. That was the denominator of Vanitas’s life, that he would always meet his end at another’s hand. If not at Xehanort, then at Aqua’s. If not at Aqua’s, then at Terra’s. If not at Terra’s, then at Ventus’s. The list went on and on, stretching in front of him like a preordained death sentence.

As his tolerance for the light ran out, he curled in on himself, face in his knees and hands covering his ears. He didn’t want to hear it, the debate on how he’s a monster, how they should kill him while he’s down.

In that instant, he was 11 again. He was a child, born of dust and darkness and staring at the shell of his body laying on the ground, eyes empty and beyond repair. He was a child being given a name that echoed what he was once, what he would never be again. He was a child with fear curling around his chest, looking at his master with his raised Keyblade and the eye that always saw. He was a child being told that his only purpose was pain, pain, pain, and the only end was to destroy himself.

He was certain he was going to be ended right where he had been born, a cruel life cycle.

Vanitas could vaguely hear voices—there was a woman’s, which was undoubtedly Aqua, and he could hear the hum of his other half’s voice. There were more, but he couldn’t distinguish them; they must be the others who had no idea _~~what~~_ who he was and what he did. He could guess what was going on—Aqua, Terra, and Ventus deciding who would go for him, the others making input. They were bartering over the final strike like some kind of sick prize for their victory. 

Then there was a familiar yell, and Vanitas flinched and withdrew his face instinctively.

“ _ **NO!**_ ”

Ventus was standing over him, arms outstretched, and he stood as a beacon of _hope_ for that moment. Vanitas would never say it, but he looked like a proverbial angel. His outstretched arms were his wings, golden hair his halo, and fire in his eyes that threatened to burn anyone who didn’t listen to him.

Vanitas vomited blood in the dust.

“We’ve come this far! I’m not going to let you hurt him, not unless you go through me!”

“Ven!” Aqua protested, “He’s dangerous, and you know that better than anyone!”

“You saw him help take Xehanort down! He’s…” Ventus hesitated, looking back at Vanitas, still huddled on the ground with a vulnerable face—a child’s face, what could have been his own face. “He’s darkness for… for us.”

“Can someone explain what the hell is going on?” Roxas asked with a voice that tried to be snarky, but the wide-eyed look on his face gave him away.

Ventus heaved a sigh and crouched down to Vanitas’s level, staring him in the eyes. “He’s… my other half?”

Axel ( _Lea? Vanitas still didn’t understand Nobodies_ ) made a confused noise. “You’re going to have to explain further, Ven.”

Ventus worried at his inner lip, and Vanitas felt the pain shoot through his mouth, but he didn’t do anything. It grounded him, a deep-seated coping mechanism that scattered scars along the insides of his mouth.

“I don’t really remember any of it… or any of my life, but I was Xehanort’s original plan. I was supposed to be where Terra stood. But I wasn’t strong enough, and he…” Ventus mimed the shape of a heart with his hands, then split it apart, two halves broken. “I’m the light, and he’s the darkness. We wouldn’t exist without each other.”

“He tried to destroy you, Ven,” Aqua said, obviously trying to keep her voice from cracking.

“He was in pain, so much pain,” Ventus choked out and then he was crying and then Vanitas was crying and all the hurt that he was trying to ignore came back, anger _ ~~loneliness~~_ jealousy _ ~~fear~~_ hatred _ ~~longing~~_.

It bubbled up in his throat and then he was dry-heaving, blood and spit and bile coming out because god, he hadn’t eaten in so long.

He felt a hand on his back and he instinctively knew—it was the piece that saved Ventus, gave him a face, made him more human.

“Vanitas?” Sora whispered gently. “Can you trust me, for just one second?” Vanitas said nothing, and Sora took it as permission, wrapping his arm around Vanitas’s waist and forcing him up, making him stand so that everyone could look at him.

There were faces of fear and confusion and hatred. He didn’t know who most of these people were, and they were scared of him, like people always were. He moved to shove Sora away, flexing his hand to summon a dark corridor to get away and curl up and die somewhere alone.

Sora steadied his hands on Vanitas’s shoulders. He was stronger than expected, rooting him on the ground. “This is Vanitas!” he said with a smile in his voice, and Vanitas was frozen, not understanding that someone was happy around him, happy _because of his existence._ “You all have to say hello.”

Riku was about to blurt out something, but Sora shook his head, and then there was a tentative chorus of greetings—Aqua’s noticeably missing.

“I’m not trusting him. As long as he’s here… a piece of Xehanort is here.”

That was the wrong thing to say. The trauma wanted to take over his brain, wanted him to scream and kick and bite and fight—

“Wait. It’s okay. I know him, too.”

The girl that looked like Kairi—Xion—walked closer to Vanitas, and his first reaction was to fight, but his second was… something he couldn’t comprehend. His breath steadied and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, and he didn’t understand why. 

“What… do you mean?” Ventus asked, red-rimmed eyes tinged with confusion.

“I know him… I mean, I don’t,” she murmured, shaking her head, “but I do… I can’t say why… It’s like déjà vu.”

Déjà vu… Vanitas didn’t know what that was, but he thought he understood what she was saying. He didn’t show it, though, because that would be letting his guard down. No one noticed, but his feet shifted in the dust the slightest bit, hand pulled the slightest bit back and ready to flex—

Of course, his goddamned, accursed other half noticed it. The red string that stretched between their hearts betrayed him once again, laid his cards flat on the table for Ventus to shuffle.

He nudged Vanitas’s hand as if to let him know that he knew, and all Vanitas could do was roll his eyes and shift his stance back. It’s not like he was going to hurt her, anyways—something about the situation just put him on edge.

He didn’t understand what was going on, just like his entire fucking life, staring into a dark chasm and hoping he _~~would~~_ wouldn’t fall on the spikes at the bottom. 

Xion was giving the two of them a contemplative look, one finger tapping at her cheek. Somehow, she didn’t miss the split-second communication they had; in some weird way, Vanitas almost felt _violated_ , knowing someone besides the other half of him could read him. “Okay. I trust him,” she nodded, and he balked at these utterly stupid words.

“Why the hell would you trust _me_? Do you know what I did? I was prepared to take all the lights down and follow my orders—”

Infuriatingly, she shook her head. “You wouldn’t be here with us if you were fully prepared to do it. There’s something here,” she tapped at her heart. “It’s nice to meet you, Vanitas.”

She extended a hand, and Vanitas stared at it with a little bit of disdain and confusion. Why, why, _why_ did these people keep reaching out to him? They seemed determined to pull him straight out of the darkness, hands cutting through the tar.

“Uh huh… Pleasure,” Vanitas said _~~seriously~~_ sarcastically, slapping his hand into her palm.

Painfully, another connection was forged, a cool light creeping under his skin and helping to hold him together, just like the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heart hotel, anyone?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite help, trauma rears its nasty head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers...... once again another month between updates because i'm terrible! writer's block is a bastard
> 
> this chapter is... very angsty, but i promise things won't always be like this! vanitas just has a lot of issues.

“So… no one else… feels… the déjà vu…”

Xion trailed off her thought, suddenly distracted by realizing that Vanitas’s black blood had gotten onto her glove. Carefully, she took off her gloves and stuck them in a pocket, flexing her hands with an unreadable expression.

“There’s something good here. I’m sure of it,” she nodded resolutely after a pause, folding her arms and staring at Vanitas in thought.

Vanitas _despised_ the way she looked at him, a piercing gaze that seemed like it saw right through him. He had the distinct feeling that he was naked and vulnerable, being stared down by the master as he was berated for being weak—or fucking up—or being a coward—whatever the insult of the day was. Attempting to shake it off, he spat out, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” though a noticeable shiver did go through him. He hoped no one noticed, but he knew Xion did, somehow. 

She shrugged, making her way back to Lea and Roxas, but eyes still followed. They always followed, and now there were eighteen on him. 

None of them were gold. 

Riku had looked like he was about to explode the entire time, bottling something in, and finally, it burst out. “Can we _please_ talk about how he has Sora’s face?! How has no one mentioned it?!”

“I think there are more pressing matters,” Kairi said, patting Riku’s arm because it looked as if he was going to combust. 

Lea, beside Kairi, laughed heartily at Riku, ever the ice-breaker, apparently. “And Roxas looks exactly like Ventus! No big deal.”

As Riku spluttered, Vanitas saw this as a good time to strike, to attack one of Riku’s weak spots, for love was weak. It didn’t take a genius to see just how much Sora meant to him—the look on his face was enough. “Oh? Does this bother you?” he purred, “Does it bother you that I have _precious_ Sora’s face? That I used his face to commit atrocities, to try to destroy your friends?”

He threw his shredded gloves on the ground and examined his fingernails casually, flicking a bit of dust away _(his fingernails were caked with blood, but he could do nothing about that)_. “Really, this is a loan until,” he pointed viciously at Ventus, “I get my real face back. Both of them are the ones fucking keeping it away from me. It’s rightfully _mine,_ just as much as Ventus’s, and Sora ruined that with this goddamn _sham_.”

“What the actual fuck does that mean?” came from Roxas. As much as Vanitas was trying to intimidate the others, Roxas just looked annoyed and very close to beating the shit out of him. Vanitas couldn’t exactly blame him. 

“Okay, okay, I can explain,” Ventus sighed. He grabbed Vanitas by the scruff of the neck first, yanking him back, as he had started stalking towards Riku. “So… you know we were split in half. For some reason, I couldn’t take it like Vanitas managed to, and I—well, I nearly died.” Ventus had to pause to clear his throat and almost shamefully wipe at his nose. “With no darkness to hold me together, what was left of my heart was crumbling away. Xehanort left me on Destiny Islands to die, but… Sora saved me.

“He was just a baby, a newborn. He offered his heart to connect with mine… And that kept me from dying. He’s the glue that holds me together, even today. It doesn’t quite make sense, honestly, and I can’t say this is for sure what happened, but I think he also touched Vanitas when he touched my heart.”

Vanitas didn’t have much memory of those times—he was barely conscious, just an outline of darkness without thoughts or a free will. That was… a terrifying time of his life. All he knew was he despised Ventus, and he was going to kill him for existing where Vanitas could not. That made him the perfect medium for Xehanort, clay he could mold into whatever he pleased—a monster, a tool. 

“I didn’t need your goddamn help, let alone your goddamn face,” Vanitas snarled at Sora. “I was doing _fine_ on my own! I’d rather have what I got than some fucking _mockery_.”

“So… what did he look like before I was born…?” Sora asked softly. Vanitas hated that he could almost _feel_ the heartbreak radiating off of him; it reminded him of his connection with his other half. 

Said other half hummed in thought, a small frown on his face. “I wasn’t conscious, so I don’t know... I’ve never thought about it, actually. Maybe—”

Vanitas interrupted him, a big smile on his face as he extended his arms like he was presenting something. “A doll. Black skin, no features except red eyes. I was truly made to fit the part of a monster.”

Now, he wished he still had those red eyes. 

Ventus looked sad at the discovery—heartbroken, even. It made Vanitas want to vomit from _~~empathy~~_ disgust. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t share my face with you…” his light half whispered, his voice choked up with pathetic fucking _pity._

“But you _can_!” Vanitas hissed, whipping around wildly to shove his hand against Ventus’s chest. “You miserable fucking—I’ve been _trying_ to join with you for years, but you won’t fucking let me in!” 

He resorted to screaming, finally losing it. He couldn’t take it anymore, the willful ignorance and the pity and looking at Vanitas like he was a broken fucking _child_ —

And with that, his body rebelled against him, and he felt it coming. The emotions had built up too much inside, beyond his learned capacity, and the bile was rising up his throat and drowning him. 

Frantically, Vanitas tried backing up, slapping his hands over his mouth, but _the tar wouldn’t stop coming._ Once it started, it couldn’t be stopped, pouring out between his fingers and staining everything black. It stuck to everything, marking him further as a freak of nature, a fucked-up mistake. Everyone looked absolutely _horrified_ at this, frozen in place.

Except for Ventus, the only one who cared enough for some stupid reason. 

He tried to rush forward and calm him, but Vanitas was in a state of total meltdown, barely even able to control his actions. He cocked one hand back and hit an unexpecting Ventus in the face with a resounding _crack_ , smearing slime and blood on his skin.

He and his other half hit the ground at the same time, Ventus sitting up shocked and Vanitas hunched over in the dirt. Then, he couldn’t hold it anymore, and it spewed forth, coming and coming and coming and—

There in the dirt, birthed like some sort of sick, deformed child, was a fresh Unversed, covered in the dark goo. And another, and another, staring at their creator as if waiting for instructions.

“What the _hell_? _He_ makes those?!” Riku blurted out, Braveheart summoned and thrumming in his hand. Kairi and Sora did the same, as if all three of them were in tune and ready to protect each other. 

Vanitas had forgotten that the new lights had never seen the creation of an Unversed, and even the old lights had never seen him like _this_.

Ventus was wide-eyed on the ground, sitting there with Aqua fussing at his nose that leaked blood—normal blood, not like Vanitas’s filthy, dark blood. He resented that. Ventus raspily replied, “They’re called Unv—”

His light half wasn’t even able to finish the thought before Void Gear was slicing through them, mercilessly cutting him down like Vanitas had been taught to do for so many years. There the creator was, standing there with his chest heaving in pain and the remnants of tar slipping from his mouth like poisonous tears, painting him grotesquely.  
  
  
 _One day, Ventus would tell him he looked like a beautiful fallen angel._  
  
  
“Unversed. Monsters. Abominations.” Just like him. The darkness coating his hands just showed the stark contrast between him and the lights.

“Vanitas… is—is that how they’re born?” Ventus asked so, so quietly.

Absolutely none of them had ever seen this. This was reserved for _~~his home~~_ this place, but for when he was _alone_. Instead of being alone, now he had eight strangers and one half staring at him.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ve seen me create them before,” he snapped. “It’s… just like this when it gets bad,” he said bitterly, trying in vain to wipe the tar on his hands onto his bodysuit.

“Why does that happen?” Xion whispered softly. God, he fucking despised having to explain these things over and over and _over_. Why did he have to keep exploring his past, all his flaws?

“I’m broken! Shattered in half!” Vanitas laughed, half-hysterically. “I can’t keep the emotions in, and they come out like this! Then they come back to me, and the anguish creates more, and then they just keep _fucking_ coming! My life is a stupid goddamned cycle!”

He was turning entirely hysterical now, stalking towards his other half. “This is your fault. This is _your_ fucking fault, _Ventus_.” 

He had tunnel vision now, and all he could think about was _Ventus_ and his _perfect life_ and heart that got _mended_. His mindset had regressed, and suddenly he was 11 years old, looking at the shattered boy laying in the dust like a doll. Vanitas was filled with that decade-old _~~longing~~_ hatred, the uncontrollable urge to kill Ventus that he couldn’t understand. 

Before he could lunge like an animal, teeth bared and claws out, Aqua and Terra were in front of him, Keyblades flashing in their hands as they took defensive positions. 

Aqua stood firm, jaw set. “Ventus. We can’t let him stay here. He’ll kill you. He nearly killed me. I don’t doubt that he would have killed all of us.”

“Aqua, you don’t understand!” Ventus halfway wailed, starting to cry. Thick tears fell, and those finally made Vanitas cry once again. He wiped at his eyes, fragments of glass that still clung to his jaw guard digging into his palms and making them sting more.

The pain brought him back to the present, and he was 16 years old again, looking at the tired faces of the lights. At least the pain had managed to ground him, something awfully familiar. Something that had once given him purpose.

“He’s—he’s part of me, and I’m part of him, and we’re part of each other,” Ventus continued, sniffling. “I don’t want to be split apart again, I can’t take it…”

“Ven… you’re not like him,” Terra sighed, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. He looked at Vanitas, and Vanitas could swear Terra _flinched_ when they made eye contact. They once had the same eyes, and now only Vanitas wore them as a beacon of his sins. 

He despised Terra for being free. 

Ventus swatted the hand away. “He wouldn’t exist without me! I wouldn’t exist without him! That’s how Xehanort made it, and we can’t do anything to change it. I won’t. Not anymore.”

That puzzled Vanitas. Ventus wouldn’t… try to change it? The dark half was always rejected by everyone and everything—including the light half. That was how he was meant to be, and he didn’t intend to try to befriend these people. Ventus and Sora _~~and maybe even Xion~~_ didn’t immediately raise his hackles, but everyone else did.

“I’m not trusting him,” Aqua said firmly, with a tinge of venom to her voice. 

Vanitas hissed, “I don’t need your goddamn trust. I’m not here for _you_.”

“Then who are you here for?” Xion spoke up, once again giving Vanitas that look that told him she knew exactly what was in his heart. 

Frankly, he would punch her, if not for the sickening protective instinct that stabbed through him at the thought. 

His jaw clenched and unclenched for a moment, like he was preparing to speak, but all he could come up with was a succinct, “Fuck you.”

Because she was right. There was a weighted pause, and then—  
  
  
“Don’t you _ever_ speak to her like that.”  
  
  
Roxas looked deadly at that moment, stalking over as he summoned _two_ Keyblades, somehow. His anger was cold and vicious, the opposite of Vanitas’s violent anger that burned like an uncontrollable fire. 

In some weird, confusing, fucked-up way, Vanitas felt that he respected Roxas and his skills, despite having never seen him in action. Something felt familiar, but it was in a way that made his pulse pound in his ears as a grin split across his face. Void Gear was in his hand, and he took his stance, beckoning his opponent forward. 

Someone was trying to pull him away, but Roxas was too fast, one of the Keyblades glinting against the sun and swinging down—

And before Vanitas could block it, Xehanort was there in his mind’s eye, and it slashed down his shoulder in an all too familiar way. He was knocked down easily, the stench of blood clogging his nose and a sudden shriek ripped from his throat. 

This was worse than the other times he lost it, simply because this one involved a weapon and an injury. He was already emotionally fragile, Xehanort’s ghost wrapping his gnarled hand around his throat from behind, and this did him in. 

He started screaming on the ground, on all fours and contracting into himself like a scared animal. It was too much, _too much,_ and he was terrified. 

Over his fit, he could hear scattered words and shouts—’too erratic’—’unpredictable’—’need to subdue’—’dangerous’.

Most notable was Ventus’s voice, one Vanitas could always, always identify, speaking less threatening words—’be gentle’—’traumatized’—’can’t help it’—’careful’.

He tried to focus on the words to ground himself, but his brain was muddled; half of it was existing in the present and trying to discern the others, and the other half was existing in the past, on the ground and trying to escape his _~~master~~_ monster.

_Fingers curled into the dust. Blood on his face. Knees giving out. Something fractured. A Keyblade coming down, down, down,_ _**down**_ —

Then, he felt a spell wash over him, leaking into his bones and numbing his neurons. It felt like he was floating down into a dark sea, like he was dissolving into Ventus’s heart all over again. The thought that he was going to be vulnerable around enemies drifted through his mind, but he was suddenly too tired of everything to keep fighting. 

The last thing he was conscious of was his light half gripping his hand, a whisper of, “I’ve got you,” echoing in his ear before he succumbed to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas is free, yet he's not; still, no one understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE HUGE DELAY ONCE AGAIN... life is just a lot sometimes! between finals/the semester ending, health issues, writer's block, con prep (acen killed me!), etc. etc., i've been dying. but here we are! since it's summer, hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner.
> 
> this chapter has a lot of exposition, but i felt it necessary.

_Reaching, reaching, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore—maybe something that had never been, dissolved into the ephemeral._   
  
  


* * *

  
  
An ocean of nothingness wrapped around Vanitas, cradling him gently; it felt familiar for some reason, but his sleeping mind couldn’t figure out why. It was easier to just accept that he was sinking down, down, down, to somewhere that could have been light or darkness or both all at once.

It was cold, but not uncomfortably so; the sensation just served to numb his mind, freeze the cogs that were always turning and grinding against each other until he went crazy. The absence of racing thoughts in his mind almost scared him because it was like what he fundamentally was had entirely disappeared. There weren’t a hundred trains of thought racing towards one track, all veering in the direction of Vanitas’s personal suffering ( _because there was nothing more his mind loved than to create a noxious cycle of self-loathing and pain_ ).

At first, there was nothing to sum up his existence: no vision, no hearing, no touch, no taste, no smell, _nothing._ The absolute lack of it reminded him of those few precious moments of nonexistence, from when the χ-blade shattered and he closed his eyes and went limp, to where hidden memories that knocked at the back of his head started.

Perhaps he was finally dead; perhaps reality had finally pried its stiff, clawing fingers off of him and let him go to wherever lost souls went. Maybe this was heaven, maybe this was hell, maybe this was purgatory.

Though, it was a little like his own personal hell because even if he was dead, he was still cognizant, aware of the iron weight of existence sitting on his chest. Life was his own personal hell, though, so it seemed his actions had been weighed to equate life to death. A fitting end to a creature that should have never been created and only served to hurt others.

Unfortunately, he realized he wasn’t dead when he started regaining feelings in his fingers and toes, a gentle tingling that gradually turned uncomfortable. It spread up his limbs and reminded him that he was real—his body was still there, with minute shocks firing through his neurons and forcing his muscles to wake up; his corporeal form hadn’t merely disappeared as he had dreamed of every night for years and years and _years._

Gradually, he began to move, starting with small, delicate twitches of his fingers and eventually moving to broader motions, trying to spur his limbs forward. It was hard to know if this was a real body or an ethereal one ( _why did existing in this limbo between life and death feel so familiar?_ ), so his motions may have been in vain, anyways.

He couldn’t see just yet to know if he was somewhere other than an indiscriminate ocean, so for all he knew, he could have existed anywhere. Eventually, more senses started coming back, his hearing next. It started as a quiet thrumming in his head, vibrating the delicate bones and drums of his ears. Then, there was a gentle hum of voices that he couldn’t distinguish, nothing more than the buzz of insects in the hot summer. That clued him in on the presence of others, whether friends or foes—though when had he ever had anything but enemies?

Touch set in, and he felt his head on something firm yet soft, and it almost seemed as if something brushed across his forehead and moved his hair; it was the kind of tender touch he had never been allowed, never actually experienced, so it couldn’t have been real, right? 

Finally, as he managed to pry his eyelids apart, his vision came back, vague shapes and colors that sharpened as one particular voice filled his ears. The presence was so achingly familiar that it felt like his whole being was being drawn towards it, two magnets attached at the hip. As the dust cleared from his eyes, he was finally able to distinguish things.

Blond hair, pitying blue eyes that made Vanitas recoil, hanging over his face.

Then, he was on the floor; his first instinct had been that he had to get away because _oh god, there was an enemy and he was vulnerable,_ but he didn’t have the motor control to do that. Instead of jumping up and away from him, he moved his limbs and fell straight off whatever he had been laying on.

“He’s awake!” Ventus called, voice and presence finally entirely distinguishable. Vanitas just groaned back, waiting to figure out how language worked. His tongue felt so heavy in his mouth that it might as well have been an iron weight on its own.

Kairi (or was it Xion?—no, the eyes didn’t pierce in the way the puppet’s did) was there next, crouching over him and taking a hand to squeeze. He couldn’t quite free himself from her grasp, but luckily, she let go fairly quickly. “Why is he on the floor, Ven?” she asked, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

“He, uh, fell off…”

“And you didn’t pick him up? Jeez. Help me with him.”

Two sets of hands slid underneath him, and once again, Vanitas fell. It was a knee-jerk reaction to a touch on a particular spot on his back, and in his still-fuzzy state, all he could do was jerk violently as he attempted to lash out. Ventus, he trusted maybe a modicum more than any other lights, but that wasn’t enough to keep him from expecting _pain._ Pain was the constant of his life, the one thing that laid under every single fucking thing he experienced. If there wasn’t pain, it wasn’t real.

Just to test, he sunk his teeth into his cheek, faintly grimacing at the pain and the taste of blood. That meant this was real.

That was how he distinguished dreams from reality, his dreams a small respite from the ache that radiated out of his heart and came from his Master.

“Shoot!” came from Kairi, and Vanitas would have mocked her, if not for the fact that he was preoccupied by a paralyzing fear. “I’m sorry, Vanitas,” she said gently, and he mentally scoffed. What kind of idiot would treat _him_ like that? He had literally never interacted with her before, and he didn’t understand her softness.

It wasn’t like him falling was her fault, anyways; she didn’t know that there was a certain spot set underneath his right shoulder blade and between his ribs that caused that reaction. It was no more special than every other fucking inch of his body that had been beaten into submission, but he could still feel the tip of No Name digging into his back, one foot grinding itself into his ribcage as the Master told him that he was ‘a complete and utter mistake who should have been eliminated before he had the chance to exist’.

That was too common an occurrence, but some experiences stuck out more than others like a bone splitting through the skin.

“Well—I guess we try again?” Ventus said, obviously wary. That was smart of him—everyone should be on guard around a monster. Vanitas should have snapped at him already, screamed about what he _needed,_ but he wasn’t able to just yet.

Hands made their way underneath him again, and thankfully, they missed that bad spot. Far, far more gently than he’d expected, they lifted him up and deposited him on some kind of couch. The actions left a bitter taste in his mouth, for they were far gentler than anything he had ever experienced, really. That almost made him laugh, the thought of _Xehanort_ gracing him with anything remotely tangential to kindness. The kindest thing he had ever gotten was the chance to exist—which, at the end, was neither kind nor worth it, especially to anyone who knew just what Vanitas had gone through at the hands of his creator.

Now, he wished so _desperately_ —more than he wished to join with Ventus—that Xehanort had eliminated him where he stood, like he threatened so many times that it was etched into Vanitas’s very bones.

He was yanked out of his spiraling thoughts by Kairi looming over him—no, wait, it was Xion. That would take some getting used to. Apparently, there was yet _another_ girl he hadn’t met who looked like Kairi and Xion, too. Talk about it being fucking bad enough with two sets of lookalikes.

“How are you feeling, Vanitas?” Xion asked, eyes wide with curiosity. He hated how she looked at him like she _knew_ him.

“Fucking fantastic,” he croaked out, so garbled that he barely understood it. Speech still eluded him, apparently, so he was all but fucking useless. God, what would Xehanort think if he could see him now, wholly incapacitated and stuck in a vessel full of the enemy, en route to an unknown place?

He’d think Vanitas was terminally stupid for standing with the lights, and Vanitas couldn’t entirely disagree with that—although he was happy he got to see that monster finally cut down.

Xehanort would also think the lights were stupid for not decimating Vanitas where he stood in the dust, and Vanitas would have to agree with that.

He painstakingly attempted to move his head upward, only getting his neck to prop up a few degrees. Still, it was enough to glare at his light half, which was exactly as he intended. “Why the fuck haven’t you fucking idiots killed me?” he spat out.

“Do you think he knows any words besides fuck?” Kairi asked Xion, and Xion simply shrugged in answer.

He would’ve snapped at the two girls—would’ve done _worse,_ had he actually had a functioning body—but Ventus interrupted him with more complete stupidity.

“What makes you so sure we’d kill you?” he asked, cocking his head in a way that Vanitas could _swear_ was mocking. What a fucking smartass, looking at him with those oh-so innocent eyes that rubbed in how he was _light_ and _not a goddamn monster_ and _everything Vanitas was supposed to be._ He was living proof of the most visceral kind of theft there was.

Ventus’s naiveté irked Vanitas so badly because he had the _luxury_ of being naïve about the true cruelty of the world, trained kindly by his master while Vanitas had the shit beaten out of him. He had come to accept long ago that life wasn’t fair at all, but he still despised it, despised Ventus for what he couldn’t even control.

Not that Vanitas cared if he could control it or not, of course.

He sighed and let his head drop back down on the cushion, starting to flex one of his hands to get it to stop tingling. “Because I’m evil and tried to kill you and your goddamn stupid friends,” he said flatly, tone of voice as if he was explaining this to a 5-year-old.

He felt the couch depress by his feet, and assuming Ventus had sat down, he halfheartedly attempted to kick at him. Infuriatingly, Ventus just smacked his foot and continued to stay where he was. “Did you not hear what I said out there? You’re me. I’m not just letting you disappear again.”

“No, _you_ are _me,”_ Vanitas growled, propping himself on his elbows to glare into his stolen eyes. “And that doesn’t matter because your friends still want me dead.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to kill you or let them kill you,” he scoffed, meeting Vanitas’s gaze equally. That made Vanitas shudder because in that moment, Ventus had eyes like Xion—eyes that could look right through him and see what he wanted. Even Vanitas didn’t know what he wanted.

Kairi sat down on the floor in front of the couch, crisscrossing her legs and looking at Vanitas thoughtfully. “Why do you expect so much bad out of the world, Vanitas?

Naïve. So goddamn naïve that it made him want to punch her lights out.

“Sorry, princess, but we don’t all live lives where almost everyone takes care of you and doesn’t try to hurt you.”

Those words were met with silence and sad eyes. It was evident that she wanted to ask what exactly happened to him, as the lights had no clue what he was talking about—absolutely no one knew the details, not even Ventus, although he knew of the pain. Vanitas didn’t see the point in explaining because none of them could come even remotely close to understanding.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask anything, instead pursing her lips into a tight line and looking to Ventus. He was staring at his lap, fists clenched, and didn’t react to her, though.

Xion came to sit next to Kairi, looking like a distorted mirror image. “Well, we’re still not going to kill you. Sora and Ventus saved you for a reason, and that means Sora will protect you with everything he has from now on.” Kairi gave a wry smile at that.

All Vanitas did was scoff and stare at the ceiling, stretching his arms out before him to try to get rid of the pins and needles that dug into his tissue. God, if he ever got his hands on whoever casted that fucking sleep spell—

“Everything’s set, so we’re about to take off!” Sora chirped, sticking his head into the room. Vanitas was glad he couldn’t see his face at that moment because staring at his reflection would’ve fucking wrecked him right then.

“’Kay,” Ventus said wearily. He sounded so resigned that it twisted something inside of Vanitas, but he wasn’t sure what. 

“Uhhh… um… I guess I’ll see you guys later…?” Sora murmured before promptly leaving, having caught the weird vibe in the air. Thank god. Vanitas didn’t need to put up with anymore happy-go-lucky bullshit about how people aren’t all bad and light and dark coexist and blah blah _blah._

Vanitas sharply asked, “Where are we going?”

“The Mysterious Tower, to talk to Master Yen Sid about what to do from here.”

He’d heard of this master, much like any of the others. Just like Eraqus, Xehanort spoke about him with disdain, for Yen Sid didn’t subscribe to the theories of total, dominant darkness. Anyone who didn’t prefer the darkness was a weakling, according to Vanitas’s master, so he accepted the same thing—it was the only way to live, to relieve the pain at least somewhat.

Like it had been threatening to do for what felt like eons, his voice cracked with his words, and it was so goddamn _pathetic._ “If we’re still on the ground, just let me _go_ instead of keeping me as a fucking prisoner.”

The venom in his voice couldn’t carry through anymore.

There was a chorus of denials from the three in the room, and Ventus piped up. “You’re obviously not a prisoner—you’re not tied up or anything. And I told you, I’m not losing you again. Not to… there.”

“I’ve always been a prisoner to something.”

“Not anymore.”

Ventus’s voice was so resolute that Vanitas, almost, _almost_ believed him. A string tugged at his heart, crawling up to his vocal cords and trying to make him speak, but all he did was roll on his side to face the back of the couch, declining to reply.

That was far too much to hope for, and Vanitas was not that stupid. Not anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accepting change is difficult when change only hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy didn't take a whole month to update! i also went back and fixed some stuff in the first couple chapters of this fic because some stuff wasn't quite cohesive... not necessary to reread but edits are there!
> 
> ventus and vanitas are getting Fed Up(tm)
> 
> also, as far as characters coming off two-dimensional and ooc, that's intentional! vanitas is a very black and white person so he only sees people as one thing, so it comes off with much more force for him. but baby boy will change

After some minutes, it felt like the ship was vibrating oddly, and Vanitas sat bolt upright like he was shocked by the sensations. He had certainly never traveled in something like this before, as corridors were more convenient, so the gummi ship felt almost primitive to him, compared to the smooth effortlessness with which he usually traveled. Corridors and the Lanes were more like home, darkness tugging at his heels and whispering things in his ears that he had accepted long, long ago.

Instead, they were stuck in a fucking piece of shit vessel that could fall straight out of the sky. He dug his fingers into the couch cushion, heart racing with the realization that now, he was truly stuck with the lights with nowhere to go, no strength to summon an escape.

“It’s okay. Sora can drive just fine! Well, kind of,” Kairi said to Vanitas, and he all but snarled at her for daring to speak to him again. He didn’t need her fucking _reassurance,_ like he was a child who was scared of the dark. It made his skin crawl, how she acted like she could _ever_ care about a monster.

Much like Ventus, they were polar opposites, Vanitas a fucked-up incarnation of pure darkness as opposed to Kairi’s pure light. Hers was different from his other half, as hers felt brighter, starker, fuller of feelings that made Vanitas cringe away from the wholeness of it.

That was probably what happened when your pure light was born naturally, not dragged into existence.

With a nasty glare, he laid back down once again, obstinately facing away from the others and pretending that he couldn’t hear them.

For some fucking reason, Kairi perched on the armrest next to his head, and it took all Vanitas had to not jerk his head up and _snarl_ at her for daring to be so goddamn _close._ What was it with Sora and every person connected to him feeling like they could just step into Vanitas’s life and pretend that he could be given something more?

There was an awkward silence after that, the kind of tension that Vanitas could feel aching in his teeth—and he couldn’t deny that he felt some kind of sick satisfaction in the tangible discomfort of the lights.

“I still can’t believe it’s over…” Xion spoke up to break the tension, her soft voice somehow aged by all she had gone through. Vanitas felt something uncomfortable in his heart that made him feel like vomiting. “We get to just… be.”

The mention of that made Vanitas’s heart speed up in his chest like it was trying to run away from the words. He didn’t know how to _be._ How the hell were you supposed to just exist when your entire life had been focused towards one goal? How the hell was he still existing when the singular thing his entire fragile reality was built on was gone?

For someone like him, there was no way to live. He wasn’t created to last, wasn’t given the chance to live assuming it would be forever. He always knew that once he served his purpose, Xehanort would discard him like he did to Ventus’s inert body.

But Xehanort was up there and Vanitas was down here and everything he knew fell through his hands like the dust storms that swept him up.

Thinking about a normal life actually made him anxious—not that he was going to reveal that to the others. He just didn’t know what it was like to have a roof over his head, what it was like to have a bed, what it was like to not fear for your life at any given moment.

“I haven’t _been_ for over a decade…” Ventus mumbled, the ghost of a bitter laugh under his voice. “I wonder how much everything has changed… At least the Land of Departure should be the same, though that kind of scares me.”

Something in Vanitas’s chest twisted almost sympathetically, and he had to keep from slapping his hand on his chest to chase the feeling away. Why would something like that resonate with him, who never had a home?

The sound of a foot tapping on the floor and a broken whisper. “What if we don’t have a home to go back to?”

 _That_ slammed Vanitas with a wave of sympathy so painfully intense that he sucked in a breath; there was that feeling of déjà vu once again, but it made no more sense than it had before.

_Except he could feel that tug at the bond that choked his heart, and something shrouded at the back of his mind told him that she understood._

“The Organization was anything but a good place, but it was the only place I could ever call home.”

Kairi sighed, seemingly in thought. “Everyone will find new homes. I’m sure of it. If we don’t figure something out, Sora won’t leave it alone until we do.” A smile rested in her voice, and Vanitas rolled his eyes.

That nauseating, misguided optimism was so much like Sora’s—no wonder the two were best friends.

“Well, until everyone finds places to go… We could probably take all the stragglers in at the Land of Departure!” Ventus audibly perked up as he said that, voice chipper, and Vanitas could just imagine the stupid look on his face, eyes wide and bright and hands on his knees as he leaned forward eagerly.

Kairi perked up as well, her feet thumping against the arm of the couch as she swung her legs. “That would be great! Like an extended sleepover until things get figured out,” she laughed; the sound was too _pure_ for Vanitas to even bear hearing.

The positive tilt to the conversation filled Vanitas with anger, and it was all he could do not to snap at everyone. He tried to bury himself in the couch the best he could, pulling one of the back cushions onto his head so he wouldn’t have to hear them talk anymore; there had been far too much talking, more than he had ever really done, and he was fucking fed up.

Noise still grated on him to a painful degree, after having spent much of his life with nothing but his own cries and the chirps of Unversed for company. If he focused hard enough, he could imagine the voices were the wind sweeping through the stones in the Badlands. Oddly enough, that was comforting and made it easier to bear.

As much as he hated that godforsaken place, choked with echoes of pain and bloodshed, it was one of the only things that he ever had.

After some time, the muffled chattering almost served to lull him to sleep, the effects of the spell still dragging him to the bottom of the ocean, but he managed to resist it—if only to keep from being vulnerable once again.

Of fucking course, that was interrupted like some ironic reminder that he wasn’t allowed to relax. That was his fault for letting his guard down around enemies, though.

Any semblance of calm that he had found immediately dissipated as a door loudly slammed open, and he jerked upright. His fingers twitched as he primed to summon his Keyblade, heart beating rapidly, but he soon realized there was no motion made to attack—for now.

Quickly, he laid back down, steadfastly looking at the ceiling with a scowl, and adamantly refused to move from his position as he tried to ignore the person who entered the room they were in. The tension was being held in his back, gripped onto his muscles like tumors, and he hoped no one would notice how tense he was because that would mean he was _weak_ and _vulnerable_ and they could take advantage of him.

“What’s wrong with him?”

While the person’s face couldn’t be seen, it was evidently Roxas; at first, how similar his and Ventus’s voices were threw Vanitas off, but he had quickly learned to identify them. Ventus’s was lighter and more lilting, while Roxas’s was heavier and more tired.

There was no answer, so Vanitas could only assume that someone—probably his other half—only shrugged in answer. Hopefully, there would be no more prying, and it thankfully seemed like he was saved.

He mentally filed that away: Roxas understood when things didn’t want to be said.

Not that that made Vanitas trust him anymore, of course. Not that he trusted anyone in the world, not even himself.

A bolt of familiar, yet unfamiliar anguish from Ventus.

“Come sit, Rox,” Xion said with the sound of a hand patting on the floor, and then presumably the sounds of Roxas settling down next to her. “We’re talking about where everyone’s gonna live.”

Her voice was kind, too kind, tinged with the affection of one united with a purpose.

“Guess we’re homeless.”

Roxas was so cynical that Vanitas felt like he was the only one he could remotely relate to. Involuntarily ( _because why would he want to look at these people?_ ), he rolled over on the couch until he was able to see others. Roxas stared at him with blank eyes before turning his head back to the others.

“Well, we’re thinking of taking everyone to the Land of Departure until things get sorted out!” Kairi chimed in once again, patting her hands on her knees. “It’s big enough to keep everyone for—”

“Why do you keep saying ‘we’ like I’m a part of this bullshit?”

Ventus roughly scrubbed his hands over his face, pausing to press the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Can you stop arguing about this?”

“You think I’m going to fucking _lay down_ and accept whatever you say, Ventus? Think I’m going to just walk into a snake pit?” Vanitas spat; really, he was practically incapable of saying his other half’s name without venom, without disdain like the very syllables burned his tongue.

In an abrupt move that startled Vanitas, even, Ventus stood up, and he reached over to Vanitas to wrap a hand around his upper arm, wrenching him up and dragging him away, behind another door and into what seemed to be a closet.

Vanitas was so shocked that he just let himself be dragged as he stared at the hand around his bicep; it led to a slim arm that showed how stark the contrast was between light who trained gently and darkness who trained brutally and relentlessly.

With a resounding slam, the door closed behind them, and Ventus crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the ground. Before he could speak, Vanitas scoffed, “You really think I’m going to step in that fucking castle with people who want me dead? _Pass.”_ He would be surprised if Aqua or Terra could spend more than 5 minutes around him in an enclosed space without trying to finish their decade-old job.

“It’s not—it’s not that clear cut, Vanitas!” Ventus groaned, fisting his hands in his hair in frustration; he was so obviously tired of his other half, as it had been only a matter of time until he stopped being kind. “Not everyone blindly hates!”

Vanitas scoffed and spat out, “Oh, _please._ You saw the way they looked at me—especially her. I’d know that expression anywhere.”

Blue instead of gold—what was the difference?

His lighter half started pacing the small space, randomly gesticulating. His jaw was grinding, yet no words came out, like he was having an intense debate with himself on whether he should say something at all.

“She—she’s _scared,_ Vanitas.”

“That’s not my fucking problem!”

“You’re not listening!” Ventus snapped, stopping in front of Vanitas to jab a finger into his chest with a kind of venom that was unfamiliar on his face

What happened to that boy who used to be too broken to fight back?

“She’s not hostile or evil. She’s scared! She just spent over a decade in the Realm of Darkness, and those shadows are going to linger over her for… a long time.” Ventus continued pacing the room, obviously upset. “She’s scared of the dark because of what lurks there… just like you’re scared of—”

“You better not finish that fucking sentence unless you want Aqua to have another reason to kill me, _Ventus.”_

He was instantly fighting so hard not to become that child laying in the dust again, but his chest ached so badly that he wanted to keel over. He didn’t need his privileged half simpering about Vanitas’s fucking pain and suffering and _agony_ like he even knew a teaspoon of what he went through.

It wasn’t just that—he was terrified that if someone said it out loud, it would be true; Vanitas would have to recognize that the monster under his bed had a very real face—one with glowing eyes that mirrored his own.

No, it was better to destroy the thoughts like an Unversed, dissipated into dark, noxious smoke with a flick of his wrist.

“I don’t care about your _platitudes._ She still doesn’t want me anywhere near her precious friends, and I don’t want to be there either.”

Ventus all but _sneered_ in a way that reminded Vanitas of himself, and he despised that. It looked bad on his light. “Vanitas, I’m _not_ letting you go anywhere, and certainly not back to the Badlands.”

“I can’t leave? What was that about not being a prisoner, Ventus?” Vanitas said, barking out a laugh.

His other half’s face immediately fell and twisted into a sad grimace in a way that made Vanitas feel nauseous. He didn’t want that pity, didn’t want Ventus looking down on him. Yes, whatever, he had always been a prisoner, but he accepted it. That way, it wouldn’t hit him so hard or squeeze his chest until he couldn’t breathe, like when he was freshly born and unable to cope.

The sheer confusion coming off Ventus could be felt by Vanitas as well; he was stuck between letting his dark half go or proving him right, proving that he was a prisoner and couldn’t go where he wished.

After some moments of pause and clenched teeth, he spoke up. “Vanitas. This is the end of the line. Xehanort’s dead. The χ-blade isn’t viable. Where are you going to go?”

No, no, no, no, _no,_

If he thought about this too much, he was going to shatter in a much more painful way, his atoms falling apart and neurons unwinding themselves because _what the hell was he supposed to do?_

He wasn’t going to cry in front of Ventus again, he refused. It was too fucking embarrassing and shameful; he wasn’t a goddamn child anymore, and he wouldn’t give his other half any sort of vindication over him.

“Somewhere! Somewhere where I can’t fucking feel you tearing me apart! Just _away_ from here!” he all but shrieked.

Ventus looked as if he was ready to scream in return, eyes burning with something Vanitas often felt; his patience had run out, and he was showing off the darkness he had grown after years without his other half.

The door slammed open, revealing Roxas—perfect timing before they got into a physical fight.

“Just leave it alone, Ven,” he sighed, that haggard look still on his face. “We’ll figure it out when we get to Yen Sid’s. There’s nothing you can do otherwise.”

Roxas understood Vanitas so well without even trying that Vanitas almost bristled, but he only didn’t attack if not for the sake of getting Ventus to stop forcing him to stay.

Ventus crossed his arms, a petty scowl on his face with cheeks flushed from anger. There was a pause where he tried to mediate his breathing; Vanitas felt a sick sense of satisfaction from having been able to get to his other half so easily and make him lose himself in the frustration. Without another word, Ventus shook his head and walked out of the closet, brushing past Roxas to return to the others.

The doppelganger followed after with only a look tossed towards Vanitas, and Vanitas was grateful for that silence.

With the two gone, he sank to his knees, holding his face in his hands as he silently self-destructed.

There was nothing left for him, not here, not anywhere. No goal, no purpose, no reason to keep moving forward.

The Keyblade Graveyard should have been his own resting place, but here he was, a prisoner of his own making.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas has to accept the new reality woven by destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is significantly longer than intended, but i had trouble with where to end it... so enjoy!

As it always unfortunately turned out, Vanitas wasn’t good with small spaces, after having spent most of his waking existence in an open, yawning expanse. The air in the closet felt like it was suffocating him, winding around his neck and wringing the air out like water from a cloth. It seemed as if the walls were collapsing in on him, threatening to squash him into nothingness as the room grew smaller and smaller. 

Vanitas felt too big and too small for his body all at once, and he needed to escape the miniscule space before his reformed body split at the seams and leaked out his mistakes and weaknesses. 

But he couldn’t leave where he sat—there was no way he was going to deal with the looks of _pity_ from those lights. He didn’t need those blue eyes focused on him, wide and full of _emotions_ that stung like nettles.

From Ventus, it would be anger; even now, Vanitas could feel it rolling off his other half in waves, a deep-set grudge that Ventus was obviously more than happy to sulk in at that moment. Vanitas could deal with anger—it was familiar, grounding, motivating ( _and sometimes terrifying, all too terrifying, but he wasn’t afraid of little Ventus, was he?_ ). The most trouble came with emotions that made him feel looked down upon, like he was inferior because he wasn’t _pure_ like them, because he was a fucking monster. _He_ was the superior one, right? They didn’t have any right to condescend him, right?

At least, he wouldn’t give them a chance to. Over his dead fucking body.

When his knees buckled, he collapsed in on himself like a dying star, drawing his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and burying his face in his knees. The position harkened back to when he was first forced into existence, back to those few moments before the ache that defined his life settled into every fiber of his being. Shielded from the rest of the world by shrinking walls, he could quietly crumple and give in to the pull of unconsciousness that itched at the back of his skull.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_Xehanort was alive. How could he be alive? Didn’t Vanitas see him fade away into nothing? Even now, he could all but see through the fragile edges of his ~~former~~ master’s body—yet there he was, standing with his gnarled hands clasped behind his back and a murderous, condescending glint in his eyes. One that was familiar, one fixed on him until the eyes appeared in his dreams, always glowing in the corner of his eye. _

_“Vanitas,” he rasped, “did you truly think you could betray me like that? How naïve, believing that those insufferable lights could take me down. No, the plan is still in progress._

_**”You still have a part to play, child.”** _

_And then the arc of No Name came down—then the χ-blade—then No Name—cutting into the meat of his shoulder in an all too familiar way._

_It hurt, it hurt,_ it hurt, _but there was no time to recover before the Keyblade, flickering between two forms, came down again… and again… and_ again.

_The razor sharp tip pressing into his chest, the voice hissed, “Maybe this time, you’ll obey…”_

_And then the glass that had somehow been beneath him all along cracked, and he was falling, falling, falling, into an ocean of darkness that was going to chew him up and spit him out, blood and marrow and gristle tainting everything they touched as if—_  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Vanitas woke up with a sudden gasp, arms curled around himself protectively. His shoulder still ached from the dream, and he realized that his fingernails were digging into it as a few dropletss of blood made their way down the creases of his suit.

“…nitas?” came a voice that Vanitas was only just beginning to be able to hear; panic flooded through him, until he registered that it lacked a rasp and piercing disdain.

His first reaction was his mask, and thankfully, despite it having been broken, he was able to summon darkness that pooled its way over his head, meeting the edges of his jaw guard and sealing his face behind a barrier. He was far too old for a safety blanket of any kind, but he needed this, needed to be able to control his presentation towards his opposites. 

Now content that the anguish on his face couldn’t be seen, he tilted his chin up defiantly and spat, “What do you want?”

Xion nervously tapped her fingers on the doorframe of the closet, peeking in from the side. Somehow, she could sense Vanitas’s desire to be left alone, and she actually attempted to respect it, unlike so many of the goddamn people connected to Sora he’d met. “We’ve made it to the Mysterious Tower, so…” she trailed off softly.

“Okay, and?” Vanitas snorted derisively. He thoroughly enjoyed the hesitation radiating off Xion, but he had to admit, it felt a little… off. It was like something was scratching underneath his skin, and the sensation made him want to peel himself open and get rid of it. “Have fun talking to the old bastard, I guess.”

“Well… the others want you to come speak to him as well. Now that Xehanort is gone, we have to figure out what we’re going to do about… everything, and that includes you.”

She made it sound like he was just a _chore_ to do, like it was just some task to check off the list, but Vanitas couldn’t exactly bring himself to be offended. It was true, really—he didn’t have a real connection to these people ( _despite what was buried so, so deep in his heart_ ), so why should they care about what happened to one of Xehanort’s goddamn pawns?

“Nope. No way. If you would’ve just let me fucking leave, this wouldn’t be an issue,” he said decisively, condescendingly waving a hand at Xion as he looked away. The stupid lights had dug their own grave, so Vanitas wasn’t going to make this easy for them. He halfway expected to die when they killed Xehanort—at this point, would have rathered it—but here he was, and he didn’t want anything to do with their plans for the _future._

That made him feel sick, honestly, the fact that there was a life after the war. The plan had never extended this far—the apprentices would be assimilated, Vanitas would be himself again, the χ-blade would be forged, the world would be made anew… and that was it. That was exactly why the dark half expected to die, because why in the world would someone like Xehanort account for others, once they had served their purpose as means to an end?

Now, there was a reality to account for, plans to be made for the shambles of so many lives; Vanitas’s pieces had joined those shattered on the ground, inexorably intertwined with their destinies, but he was sure he would like nothing any of them proposed.

Xion pursed her lips and tapped a foot on the ground, obviously debating on whether this fight was worth it. He could almost laugh at that foolish stubbornness that reeked off her, something that seemed like it would put her in a very bad situation someday.

( _Little did he know._ )

After some moments, she sighed and crossed her arms, seeming more resolute on her decision. “Vanitas, you need to come. If you don’t at least try, Sora will probably come get you, or maybe Aqua or Terra…”

She had him there—the last fucking thing he wanted was to deal with Sora’s nagging optimism _or_ the inevitable clash with Ventus’s friends, but did he _really_ have to do this? If his energy wasn’t so depleted, he would summon a corridor and be out of there before Xion could say a word, but here he was.

He sighed testily, reaching a hand up to pull it through his hair before he realized that his mask was on. Unwilling to take it off, he instead tilted his head back, the sound of metal clanging against the wall. “Fucking… whatever. God.”

The girl gave him a kind smile, one that he couldn’t distinguish as condescending or not, and extended a hand for Vanitas to take. “Smart choice,” she giggled, her more negative mood now hidden once again. 

Although he had already touched her hand once before, Vanitas stared at it almost uncomprehendingly; she had dealt with his winning personality several times now, yet she was still willing to extend a hand to him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, why someone like her, kind and understanding, would want to help someone like him, gleefully cruel and antagonistic. 

“Why,” he said flatly, glaring at her hand like it was hurting him without even contacting him. It looked so small, now that it was free from the gloves that went along with the Organization coat, and his next thought was of how easily he could reach out and crush the bones in her hand, feeling them crack under his palm as he squeezed with a vice grip that came from years of clutching a Keyblade as if it was the only thing grounding him to reality. 

The thought of hurting her made him nauseous.

“Why? Because Sora wants—oh,” she trailed off, realizing what exactly his question was referring to. “I don’t know all that happened to you—not that I expect you to tell me—but I think we have a lot in common. Both created to serve a purpose that we were manipulated into.”

Her voice grew very soft by the end of her sentence, and Vanitas snorted. “A puppet and an empty creature. How fitting,” he said dryly, but he took Xion’s hand and let her help heft him up. The little bit of candidness was admirable, so she could have that much. 

Surrendering to the assistance was actually a good decision, as his knees all but buckled as he stood up, and Xion used her hand to steady him. Mercifully, she said nothing about his moment of weakness, instead releasing his hand once he was steady and giving him a tight-lipped smile.

( _She detested being called a puppet, but Vanitas didn’t know or care just yet._ )

Without any further words, she led the way to another part of the ship where the others were gathered. It was a good thing she was there, otherwise Vanitas would have gotten totally fucking lost; they hadn’t even been free from the battle that long, and he was already experiencing so many new things that he felt a little like shutting down. His world had been confined to only a handful of things, and now there was so much _more,_ more people and places and goals and dreams to fill up the empty spaces.

When they arrived to where the others were idly waiting, Vanitas felt more anxious than he had in… some time. Usually it was piercing fear or vague nervousness, not real _anxiety,_ but the unknown was suffocating him, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

There were a few beats of silence as a handful of heads turned towards him, blue and green observing him like some kind of anomaly who had snuck its way into their reality.

Sora broke the silence with a cheery, “You made it!”

“Can it,” Vanitas snapped. “I’m just here so I won’t get fucking bothered. Don’t read into it.”

Somehow, he knew that Sora was _absolutely_ going to read into his actions and think they were succeeding at getting through to Vanitas or some unsubstantiated shit—though he wasn’t sure why he knew that so concretely. 

It felt like a stare was piercing through his head, and he turned to look at his other half; Ventus was still obviously pissed at him, but his face was a little curious, and maybe even a little forlorn. “You’re wearing the mask again.”

“Course I am. Did you really think you could permanently break it?” Vanitas scoffed, bringing up a hand to rub at his jaw guard. It ached and stung as always, biting into his skin like it was collaring a dog, but he wasn’t willing to remove it. He felt entirely… naked when he did, laid bare to the world to be scrutinized.

This was what he knew, his fake face hidden in a cage of darkness and steel; it probably served to make the lights more uncomfortable since they couldn’t see his expressions, but that was all the better. Now, he had a standing advantage to whatever interactions they would find inside of that looming tower.

“Well, we should go in,” Aqua said, voice clipped and stiff. Vanitas was spot on with the assumption of discomfort.

“Oh, yeah!” Sora agreed, and he practically _bounced_ over to the buttons at the front of the cockpit, briefly examining them before slapping a hand down on one. “Almost forgot… My memory is off,” he chuckled quietly.

Some sort of… landing hatch, or something Vanitas didn’t have a goddamn name for, opened and shuddered to rest gently on the ground, crushing the grass around it. It felt like a gaping hole to the rest of the world, to a normal place where the fate of existence wasn’t at stake.

It was a strange land, someplace Vanitas had never been ( _although where had he really ever spent time for a purpose other than chaos?_ ). Somehow, they were floating among the clouds, the gummi ship set down on an island suspended in the sky.

A tower stretched up above them, crooked and tilting, and in the distance down below, the bustling of Twilight Town could be seen as civilians carried on their clueless lives, unaware of what had been waged all so that they could run around and worry about meaningless things. 

The normalcy hurt because it was something Vanitas could have had, _should_ have had if not for Xehanort ripping him away. He had no idea where he and Ventus came from, but did they once have this? Were they once a child with a home and a life, a child who went to school and made friends and cried into his mother’s arms? Did Xehanort steal them away from the comfort of a stable life—or was there never anything normal at all?

Vanitas didn’t know which option was worse.

He was jostled out of his thoughts as Ventus nudged his shoulder with his own, and Vanitas felt like he was coming to once again. He shook his head like trying to get his brain to fit back into place and squinted against the natural light, where twilight loomed over the horizon, hanging over the town like a blanket.

Everyone had filtered off the ship, and they waited around, glancing at the two halves standing next to each other. Some gazes were interested, some were apprehensive, some were irritated—all were piercing and judging, he just knew it, could feel it in his bones

“Done moping? Finally going to give up on me?” Vanitas snarled at Ventus, baring his teeth even though his light couldn’t see the expression.

“You’re one to talk,” Ventus said, rolling his eyes. “I told you, I’m not giving up on you, even though you’re the most difficult person in the universe.”

Vanitas rolled his eyes in return, flipping Ventus off, before he made his way off the ship, refusing to look directly at any of the others. He just wanted to get this shit over with, to figure out where he could go crawl off to where he could keep suffering until he keeled over and disappeared once again.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t go to Sora’s heart the next time.

Once again, the tension was palpable, as Vanitas made almost everyone he ever encountered uncomfortable. Many of the lights didn’t even know his full story, so he was even more of a loose cannon than he seemed to the ones who knew him. With golden eyes and a perpetual sneer, Vanitas was a representation of what they thought they killed.

Unsurprisingly, Aqua turned on her heel and headed into the tower silently, and after a few moments of hesitation and exchanged looks, the others followed, bar Vanitas and Sora.

“Master Yen Sid isn’t that bad! Things will turn out better than you expect,” Sora reassured with a smile that was far too optimistic for the pain and suffering they had all gone through mere hours ago. Fuck, how _badly_ Vanitas wished he could forget things that easily, move on and look towards the future with pure belief that destiny would favor him eventually.

( _At that moment, Vanitas could never imagine the hurt and fear that were caged up behind that sunshine smile, so much like his other half._ )

Anger flooded through him once again, making him want to peel Sora open and dig his fingernails into every connection of their hearts like a gaping wound shakily stitched together. Predictably, an Unversed popped up from his shadow, rising from the ground and staring at the object of Vanitas’s ire with red eyes.

Without hesitation, Void Gear slashed through the creature like a rock easily diverting the flow of water; despite the ache in his chest and the bolt of anger, Vanitas didn’t even flinch, bearing the pain that he had been taught to bury over and over beneath dirt and dust and liquid darkness.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this bullshit over with,” he replied curtly, dismissing his Keyblade and striding across the grass and to the stairs that led up to the tower’s entrance. Without ceremony, he strode through the entrance and immediately balked at the confusing design. Nothing as bad as Castle Oblivion, but it was certainly jarring enough after having dealt with so much change and turmoil in such a short amount of time.

He stood in a round room, which would have been mostly normal if not for the winding staircase that spiraled around the outside, going up and up so far that Vanitas had to squint up to see what was up there.

So caught up in trying to understand what was going on as a new wave of anxiety swept through him, Vanitas didn’t notice the others congregating, making the entrance seem far too crowded—more small, crowded space that would press in and in on him.

His breath was held for a few moments, trying to resist the urge to lash out, but the others started up the stairs as if it were nothing at all. Notably, Sora bounded up the stairs three at a time, some stupidly happy grin on his face; he was always the leader, a shining light to lead the others, and Vanitas resented having to follow that. Still, he was urged up the stairs with a gentle push between the shoulder blades from Ventus, and he started to trudge up, almost numbly, as if his mind was finally starting to shut down, losing track of the line that balanced between reality and dreams.

Mysteriously— _’oh, how_ ironic,’ he thought to himself—when any of them reached the top, they simply… disappeared from view, like they dissipated as Vanitas was once supposed to. Occasionally, Ventus encouraged him on with a firm push to his back or a finger jabbed into his shoulders, and all Vanitas could do was follow, so fucking _tired_ of his life and whatever this new life was supposed to be.

When he and his other half reached the top with the others, they were transported to another portion of the tower—presumably, to the higher levels. There, the stairs moved and twisted and turned like they had minds of their own, but Sora hadn’t lost momentum, navigating the stairs in a way more dexterous than Vanitas would have expected from someone clumsy and impulsive like the light boy. 

Fatigue made it difficult for Vanitas to make it up, but the stairs eventually evened out to an even, straight path up to a large door, and he assumed that was where the master resided. 

After being jostled and ‘accidentally’ pushed around by too many other people, they stood in front of Yen Sid’s desk, Sora and Riku leading the pack of misfits and standing resolutely. Vanitas didn’t miss the way Riku’s fist clenched, a symbolic representation of all the stress and turmoil he had gone through. 

Riku was almost like the other side of a coin, one manipulated into darkness, but one who overcame it and was able to stand next to others who loved him. 

Vanitas was almost, _almost_ jealous. 

Yen Sid gave off much of an intimidating air as he sat and calmly watched these injured guardians, blinking slowly. “Has it been done?” he asked, stern and cryptic. 

“Master,” Sora said like he was spontaneously out of breath. “We did it. All of us! Xehanort’s gone!”

The way Yen Sid’s stare was suddenly leveled on Vanitas made him feel like he was being scrutinized down to his core, like he was some fucked up project that some scientists had botched—really, though, what more was he than an experiment?

All he knew was that whatever came out of the master’s mouth was not going to be something he wanted to hear. Yen Sid swept his eyes over all of them before coming to rest on Vanitas again, feral golden eyes meeting wise ones.

“There may still be a piece that remains.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things don't always work out, and it's even more so for Vanitas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took forever once again! i've had the meat of it done for like... a couple weeks, but i just couldn't get it to sit right with me? i'm not perfectly happy with it and i feel the ending is too rushed but please enjoy! _( :3 _/)_
> 
> in addition, thanks for almost 400 kudos!!! almost to 20k words thanks to everyone's support!

After Yen Sid’s ominous words, there was a weighted silence, like the words were settling into their bones, an omen that no one wanted to accept. A few of their gazes followed Yen Sid’s line of sight, fixing firmly on Vanitas, who stood there like he was dead inside—which he essentially was, just a lifeless husk full of independent emotions that used him like a puppet, a mannequin that had been frozen in time a decade and a half ago. 

Vanitas did his best to fix all the starers with a steely look before realizing that it couldn’t be seen, and his lips turned downwards. Instead, he just kept facing them defiantly, as if he was challenging them to take the initiative and fight him. Someone had to do it, so all there was was to see which one of them would speak up first and cause everything to fall apart—but it happened in an unanticipated way, thanks to the brightest light of them all, something so obnoxious it seared beneath his eyelids, a face permanently burned onto his skull.

“What?!” Sora blurted out, jaw dropping in disbelief as he broke the silence so suddenly that Xion flinched; Vanitas didn’t miss that, that moment that displayed a weakness of hers like an open book. “But Xehanort is gone! We all saw him disappear!”

“Matters of the heart are quite difficult, as you know, Sora. As it seems, when one touched by Xehanort is defeated, the mark disappears as they become themselves again. Tell me, did Vanitas pass on?” came from Yen Sid in a low, gravelly voice that betrayed his fatigue with the situation. 

Sora sputtered for a little, looking at Vanitas and back to Yen Sid as he tried to make sense of things. “Well—we defeated him, but he didn’t die, if that’s what you mean… But he chose to come with us! He’s here and hasn’t hurt us!”

“For only, like, two hours. New record,” someone commented dryly, but Vanitas ignored his instinct to find whoever that was and attack them in favor of pointing out Sora’s hypocrisy.

“Some choice,” he spat, fingers curling into fists at his sides; he had been strong-armed into coming along with them, and here he was, stuck in a tower with yet another person who seemed to want him to be erased. Excellent. At this point, it seemed that every choice was the bad choice, so he was trapped more than ever, being held prisoner by light instead of darkness.

Sora looked ready to start arguing, his jaw grinding as he deliberated his words, before he was interrupted.

Yen Sid ignored Sora’s protests about the issue, folding his hands together. “Then it is possible that Xehanort still lurks within him. As long as a tinge of him remains, the worlds are not safe.”

There was another pause, this time even heavier as if the weight of the worlds slammed right back onto everyone’s shoulders. In that moment, they looked more like children than ever, battle-weary with lines set in their faces that should have never been carved there. 

“Are you saying we have to destroy him?” Ventus said softly, almost tentatively, and the look on his face could _almost_ fool Vanitas into thinking his other half cared about his situation.

Ventus never could, though—his time was taken up by his stupid _friends_ and all the new people that surrounded them, each slotting neatly into place and taking up a piece of his heart that Vanitas _needed,_ that was his all along. Now, his light had a new life to build up, so what need was there for a fragment that no longer fit?

Something in Vanitas’s chest twisted weirdly, making him feeling like he was suffocating, and he tapped out of the conversation after that. There were various words he heard, mixing around and digging into him—‘darkness’—‘heart’—‘Xehanort’—‘broken’—‘undo’—and many more, all coming from different voices. His mouth was curled into a snarl as he zoned out while staring at his lost face, unseen and unnoticed. 

A sentence snapped him fully back to reality, choking him with anger and blatant fear. “The first thing that must be done is check on his heart to see how much influence remains.”

Once he was able to understand words again, Vanitas only became angrier and angrier as the discussion continued on like he wasn’t _right fucking there._ They were talking about him as if he didn’t play a part in this, and he absolutely was _not_ going to let them make the decisions about what constituted the rest of his existence. If anyone was going to mess with his heart, it would be him diving inside and ripping away the threads that held him to this plane of reality until he disappeared.

“You think I’m just going to let you start fucking rooting around in my heart?” he spat, and the others looked at him slightly shocked, as if they had forgotten he was even listening. Predictable.

“Vanitas, this is for your own good,” Ventus begged, looking at his other half with such sad eyes that Vanitas wanted to vomit or launch himself at him, or perhaps both. Sometimes, it felt like he was reduced to those few days after he was born, so _angry_ and heartbroken that he could think of nothing but tearing into Ventus until he was _home,_ nestled in a familiar haven that was now locked by a shattered key. Now, the call was just as strong, but it was more bitter and controlled, focused and strategical so he could get his other half back at the most opportune time and finish what they fucking started well over a decade ago. 

Vanitas let out a half-strangled laugh, folding his arms and standing firm. “For _your_ own good, so you can fucking mold me into whatever you want me to be. I’ve had enough of people trying to change my heart, and I’m surprised you don’t feel the same, _Ventus._ A symptom of your master manipulating you, huh?”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about Master Eraqus like that,” Aqua hissed, pulling Ventus back towards her and Terra with two fingers wedged under the straps over his shirt. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“Oh, but I _do,_ Master Aqua,” Vanitas taunted with a leer, hands on his hips mockingly and leaning forward. “I know Ventus’s heart better than any of you could ever dream. I know what he feels, what thoughts go through his head, exactly what hurts him. Have you forgotten how your _master_ kept Ventus imprisoned like a dog, how he was willing to destroy him just because he was scared of the dark like a little child? Did one little hug make it okay that he pushed you towards the darkness?”

Ventus’s mouth was gaping like a goldfish as the memories that he tried to ignore came forward, all too painful to dwell on ( _but never, never worse than what his dark half had to handle_ ). Vanitas could feel the anguish, the sheer betrayal at remembering how close his master, the one he trusted to take care of him, was to destroying him just to avoid the inevitable. That feeling was something one could never forget, and it clawed at Vanitas’s heart as sharply as his own pain. 

It was so goddamn _satisfying_ when Aqua pursed her lips, subtly gripping onto Ventus’s straps harder, as if it would keep him from falling from her again, from barreling toward his fate. It was obvious that she _knew_ Vanitas was right, even if she wanted to resist it and pretend that things were okay, that their lives were perfectly happy up until the end. Through their blue eyes, Master Eraqus died forgiven and vindicated, and no baggage was left behind.

None at all, except for ten years of suffering that children should have been taught to avoid, ten years of loneliness that carved away at their bones. 

“You know, none of this would have ever happened if not for your master and his weak heart,” Vanitas all but purred, slinking closer to that insufferable trio. “He instilled the fear of the dark—he encouraged that fear that stole Terra from you, Master Aqua.”

He knew that was a weak spot for her; of course, she loved Ventus like family, and Vanitas could feel that, but Terra was something… different. The way they looked at each other, the gentle, reassuring touches, the soft words that went between them.

It made Vanitas sick.

The vibe was the same as the one oozing from Sora and Riku, uncomfortable and annoying. Each held their weak points, and the two pairs were all but subtle if you were paying attention; they left themselves wide open for manipulation, and that was all too easy to take advantage of when one preyed on their emotions.

Their hearts were weak ( _but his was weaker_ ). 

As expected, Aqua puffed up a little, glaring at Vanitas and darting her eyes towards Terra, who placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It was a promise that he was there, that he wasn’t leaving again.

The lights always acted as if promises were so _binding,_ that they would get them through no matter what. Just a few pretty fucking words to carry them to their destination, platitudes designed to lull them into comfortable confidence.

Vanitas had been promised something once—promised that he would be whole again, that he would be _himself,_ Ventus, that same little boy with bright eyes and bashful laughs who once had no rifts inside of him. A rasped voice once vowed that nothing would hurt anymore and his chest would no longer howl for what he was missing.

But now, the hole ripped inside of him screamed louder than ever, sobbing and begging for what was so _close,_ standing right there in front of him with stolen blue eyes and a patchwork heart.

Idiotically, he had believed his master and what did he get? Absolutely fucking nothing, no closure or end to his suffering—just more pain and a prolonged life that he didn’t ask for. What he was promised was so goddamn _close,_ but not close enough for him to grasp without being ripped to shreds.

“Vanitas, we’re not going to do anything yet—we just need to see,” Ventus all but begged, unhooking himself from Aqua and moving closer ( _that made Vanitas just want to pull him closer and dig his nails into his face just so he could see the crimson that belonged to him_ ).

“You must be stupider than you look,” Vanitas taunted. “Your little promises mean nothing to me. This is the most fucking opportune time for you to destroy my heart from the inside out, and I’m _never_ letting someone fuck with my heart _again.”_

There was that nauseating guilt from Ventus, accompanied with hurt that was all too familiar to Vanitas. If anyone would understand just what he had been through, even if in a naïve, base way, it would be his other half. No one else was known of that had been split in half like that, painfully rent apart in the most fundamental violation of a person—and now all that was left was a stunted heart and a pile of fragments.

No, Ventus didn’t know the _true_ extent of the pain that being torn apart caused, didn’t feel a gaping chasm in the center of his chest that kept getting bigger, day by day, minute by minute, second by second as he fell apart at the seams… but he knew something, and that something was enough to keep him quiet, lips pressed into a tight line that shook nearly imperceptibly. 

“Do we need his permission to check?” came from Lea.

Both Xion and Roxas gave him baffled looks, but Lea kept a steady face as his hold on their shoulders tightened, face steely and forgiving nothing. “I’m not letting my family be torn apart by Xehanort again.”

With an exhale, Yen Sid spoke again, having been observing the confrontation quietly and letting it pan out for whatever stupid reason. “If we attempt this without his consent, it is possible that his heart may be harmed further in its already delicate state. That is something we cannot risk, as we do not know what could happen to Ventus.”

That was true, also—Vanitas didn’t care about his other half being harmed, but the others would never _dare_ hurt Ventus again. This was new territory because last time Vanitas had his heart shattered, his light half shattered along with him, so it was unknown whether that could happen without Ventus’s prompting.

With the newfound silence and cautious faces in the study, Vanitas knew he had won; he certainly wasn’t going to agree to having anyone else in his heart, and with any luck, the others would listen to Yen Sid. No doubt, some of them would resent it, despite it, but that was nothing he wasn’t used to. This was what had to happen, no matter what.

Because he knew what the lights would find once they dove, anyways, and they would absolutely use it to cast him out, use it as evidence why he needed to hurt. He could imagine he’d become a science experiment, something to be researched to figure out why he was so _broken._

To figure out _why_ his heart wouldn’t let anyone in, not even himself.

He’d tried time and time again to check inside his heart, to figure out what the hell was going on and why everything hurt so fucking _much_ all the goddamn time—to try to find out if there was a way to fix himself and make himself what he was supposed to be. Once upon a time, he thought that maybe he could fix this on his own, tie his heart back together with the filaments that were escaping—

But he couldn’t; it was like slamming into a wall, knocking the breath out of him every time he tried to enter, and nothing could breach it. He had grown tired of the attempts long ago, tired of diving in and promptly being ejected out, bursting from the water in frantic gasps as the darkness attempted to fill his lungs. There was no way he could let them know this, and he refused to bare another fucking weakness before them and let them use him like he had always been used.

For all he knew, his heart could be only a few fragments of glass, deteriorated over the years and years of pain. It could be only half a heart, a perfect hemisphere, or perhaps it could be blank, black glass. He was utterly blind to the machinations of his own heart, and there was always the possibility that Xehanort was nestled in between the cracks—or he could be completely gone. Vanitas’s heart could contain the only thing that _really_ defined him, or he could have nothing to hold on to anymore.

He didn’t know which option scared him more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the darkness can be worn down by the light, and a new deal is negotiated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo! another late update, but you know how it is!
> 
> i know a lot hasn't been happening so far, but i swear that next chapter, things will start happening and moving!
> 
> with this, the fic has officially hit over 400 kudos and over 20k words!! crazy, right? here's to many more!

“We can’t hurt Ven,” came Aqua’s voice after a few moments, her voice cracking with anguish and _anger_ because she couldn’t truly protect Ventus—not while Vanitas was there, not while his darkness still tainted their surroundings and Xehanort hung at the edges of their vision, an ever-present ghost who promised no reprieve.

No words needed to be said, but it was obvious and expected that everyone agreed with her; much like Sora, Ventus was a light even to people he’d just met, leaving an afterimage on their eyelids when they looked away from him. He was _lasting,_ unique to the worlds.

Ventus’s light had been burned into Vanitas’s eyes from the moment _~~he~~_ they were born; even his faint, dying light hurt Vanitas… but it was never enough to reach him. No, he was darkness through and through, no matter what Sora and Ventus had told him. It was the reason he existed, and maybe his only purpose had been to suffer.

That was why he couldn’t step away from the darkness—it was a simple fact that one side had to bear the suffering brought upon them, and the other could only stand up because of it. A perfect match, two upbringings standing together in an inverse mirror, was the only way for him to become whole; Vanitas couldn’t change it, no matter how much he wailed and tore at the ground with bloody fingertips. What hurt even more was that his life was a goddamn coin toss, and he could just as easily be standing there with blue eyes challenging wide gold ones.

Instead, Ventus’s bright light blinded him, sunshine melted down into molten gold that could only be used to hurt. God, how Vanitas wished that their connection went both ways, that his light would’ve felt every single fucking thing he went through for four years. Instead, he just stood there filled with rage for what had been _stolen_ right out from underneath him.

Perhaps _that_ was why his heart couldn’t be touched; it denied all else that would interfere with his purpose, cold and locked off to even himself.

Those thoughts were so close to throwing him into another craze, but someone spoke up and distracted him before he could leap at Aqua for how goddamn ignorant she was. He whipped his head around to look and glare at the speaker for trying to mess with his fate again, but for some reason, the violent instinct pulled back just a little for Roxas.

Roxas began, “So… the options are forcefully messing with his heart, destroying him—”

Almost instantly, he was interrupted by Sora glaring at him, and he raised up his hands in defeat. “Hypothetically! Jeez,” he huffed, and Xion elbowed him with a wry smile.

Vanitas didn’t need friends, no, never had and never would, but there was still an uncomfortable feeling in his chest; despite the interactions that would’ve been seen as unequivocally malicious when it came to him, they were teasing and laced with understanding between Roxas and Xion.

( _Their connection seemed almost familiar, but Vanitas ignored it._ )

“Anyways,” Roxas continued, “I don’t think Sora would let any of you cast him out, either…”

“It’s simple. It just means he has to find a place to stay, like all of us,” Kairi finished for him, and Roxas gave her a sideways look. “What are the options? I don’t think any of us,” she gestured to Sora and Riku, “are going to be spending much time on Destiny Islands, right?”

Riku crossed his arms, obviously deep in thought, and Vanitas _almost_ snarked him for it, but he was too busy stewing in his upset. “Yeah. Obviously Aqua, Terra, and Ventus will go back to the Land of Departure. What about Lea, Roxas, and Xion?” Riku asked after a moment.

“We’re homeless!” Lea said with a thumbs-up, and Roxas kicked his shin, which elicited a small ‘ouch!’ and an elbow to his side in retaliation. “It’s true! I don’t know what happened to my folks, and well, you know…” he shrugged. Roxas and Xion gave each other uncomfortable smiles in response, and Vanitas noticed how their shoulders stiffened—the burden of pain that was all too familiar to him, and he wished he could scrub the disgusting sensation of that understanding off his skin.

Ventus straightened up and started to say, “Well, if we were thinking about bringing the stragglers to the Land of Departure for the time being, then—”

“I don’t want your fucking _help,_ and I’m certainly not following you there like a lost puppy,” Vanitas spat before Ventus could finish that predictable thought, finally fed up with how they were talking about him like he wasn’t there _again,_ how they were trying to dictate his future like any of them had any goddamn right.

All of his waking existence had been dictated; from the moment of his birth, Xehanort had a chokehold on him—far too often, in a literal matter—and composed the track of his life and his use as a tool.

Yes, he followed that track, he made that choice to tear his other half apart and to make a place for himself buried under his bones… but everything Vanitas did had the touch of Xehanort, the person in the world who confused him most.

Even now, each motivation was unclear, every facet plucked and arranged and moved methodically around the board. It was a complicated game that was set up with pinpoint perception, but the end truly explained nothing, and so, Vanitas was left unsatisfied with any possible closure floating to somewhere that old bastard didn’t deserve to rest.

No one could ever be allowed to hold so many parts of his life in their hand ( _gnarled or not_ ) again, and being with the lights would just incur debt after debt after _debt,_ so what was the use in fucking his life up further? Not while he had the ability to stop it, certainly.

“You have to go _somewhere,_ Vanitas,” Ventus pleaded, his frustration leaking out through his voice and down the connection between their hearts; it almost brought Vanitas pleasure to know he was bothering him like that, if not for the fact that it was painfully irritating to have an emotion that echoed his own wiggling at his heart. “Besides that, where did you live with Xehanort before?”

Vanitas stopped where he stood, staring down Ventus in a way that he hoped transcended darkness and glass. His other half said plenty of stupid things, only increasing exponentially over time, but even _that_ was something.

“Where the fuck do you _think,_ Ventus?” Vanitas hissed, his hands instinctively clenching into fists.

“It’s not like I would have any way to know! You know, we were…” _’I was here, and you were there’_ were the words not spoken, but Vanitas could hear them as clear as day, and the reminder of how nice Ventus’s life was compared to his made him want to spit in his face.

“Where you fucking left me to _rot._ ”

He could almost hear the cogs turning in Ventus’s head, trying _desperately_ to grind the rust off them so that he could comprehend exactly what his darkness was implying. It took a few moments, but understanding soon dawned on his face and was almost instantly eclipsed by horror and _pity_ —of course.

“You—you mean you—he just—” Ventus stuttered out, pointing a finger out towards a window as if he could direct it back to where they had just been. “ _For four years?!_ ”

“Bravo!” Vanitas said overdramatically, clapping his hands slowly as he turned to survey the rest of the room. “Can you believe it? He actually has a functioning brain! I was starting to think Xehanort didn’t leave any behind for him.”

“Hey!” Aqua snarled, right hand clenched, immediately stepping in to be Ventus’s savior _as always._ “Don’t you dare talk about him like—!”

Ventus cut her off—and Terra, where he was about to jump in—with a lift of his hand, and he closed his eyes like his epiphany alone had taken everything out of him. “Guys, just… _don’t._ ”

“Ah-ah-ah, Master Aqua!” Vanitas tutted as he wagged a mocking finger at her, unable to not take the advantage to goad her. “Is that _darkness_ I’m sensing? I wonder what—”

“Can all of you just quit it?!” Ventus snapped, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation and weariness—quite the pleasing combination for Vanitas to see on his face, frankly.

Someone cleared their throat, and the four of them turned to look at Kairi, who waved at them. “Hey, hi, it’s, uh, the rest of us here? What was all _that?_ ” she asked with a bewildered look, moving her hand in a broad gesture to emphasize her point. “Catch us all up to speed, please?”

In reaction, Vanitas’s upper lip curled into a snarl, and he _almost_ made a rude gesture in her direction—why he abstained, he really wasn’t sure. “None of your goddamn _business,_ princess.”

Kairi raised her hands up in mock defeat and then leaned over to whisper something in Riku’s ear, and he just chuckled at her. Vanitas then made the rude gesture, but she somehow managed to ignore him as she slapped Riku’s arm lightly for something he had just whispered back to her. God, did that piss him the hell off.

“Ven, what were you guys saying about where Vanitas used to live? _Is_ there somewhere else for him to go?” Terra asked, steadfastly refusing to look at Vanitas.

Coward.

Ventus opened his mouth and then bit down on his lip a little as he looked back to Vanitas; he was obviously debating on whether to divulge the information he’d just figured out, and Vanitas just subtly opened his right hand wide. It was a clear message of _’if you tell anyone, I’ll start a fight here and now’_ , and luckily, it seemed that Ventus understood as his head dipped slightly downward. How obedient. “There really isn’t. Just trust me,” he said quietly.

Ventus turned around to look at Terra and Aqua, and although Vanitas couldn’t see it, he could tell from their expressions that Ventus was staring at them with those wide, naïve blue eyes that he _despised._

( _Fifteen years and that color still belonged to Vanitas, just kept caged away by an imposter._ )

“Terra, Aqua, he really needs somewhere to stay. You heard everyone, there’s nowhere else for him to go,” Ventus said, and he looked back to the others as if he was seeking backup.

Sora was standing there and watching them, of course, although from his furrowed eyebrows, Vanitas could tell he was _attempting_ to think. Lea had taken up residence on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf with his legs spread in a wide ‘V’, and Roxas and Xion were standing beside him, quietly murmuring to each other with occasional giggles as they tried to puzzle out a book in a foreign language. Kairi had continued whispering to Riku as she swung her arms wide, like she was showing off a fight stance, and the old bat was still staring at them silently with stern eyes that gave nothing away—honestly, Vanitas had to bet he was amused by this, like every sadistic master.

“I don’t _need_ somewhere to stay,” Vanitas snapped once again. “I can go wherever the fuck I want. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Ventus pouted at the others who weren’t paying attention for a moment before returning his attention to Vanitas and arguing, “You can’t just run around forever!”

“Watch me,” Vanitas hissed, shifting back a step like putting distance between them would fix everything.

…But it never had.

“Can’t you just try to stay?” Ventus begged once _again,_ and Vanitas seriously thought about chucking one of Yen Sid’s dusty old books through the window and jumping out through the shattered glass. He was never one to care about his fate, anyways, but he wouldn’t even mind if he cracked on the ground if it meant ending this roundabout.

“No.”

“Maybe just for a little bit, until things settle!” Sora reasoned as he butted into the argument completely unprompted, lighting up like he’d had the best idea in forever and hadn’t just spent 15 minutes thinking that simple solution up.

No one could glare at poor, dear, innocent Sora, but Aqua certainly tried. While she wasn’t expressly arguing against Vanitas coming to the Land of Departure anymore, it was painted on her face that she didn’t want him around in any capacity—and he could say much the same of her.

“No,” was the same reply, accompanied by crossed arms and bared teeth.

“A month?” Ventus tried.

_”No.”_

For the past few minutes, Terra and Aqua had been having a quiet discussion in the background, and Vanitas hadn’t missed some of the _almost_ pleading looks he had given her; that had perplexed him entirely because _what was Terra pleading for?_ Those two were so disgustingly in tune that they could communicate almost entirely through looks and body language, it seemed, and that was endlessly annoying for Vanitas.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on Ventus’s shoulder, making him start perhaps a little too forcefully for a gesture that small.

Weaknesses, weaknesses, _weaknesses._

“Ven,” she began softly, “if he doesn’t want to come, don’t force him. Maybe it’s better that way.” Her expression remained gentle, her thumb rubbing against the cloth on Ventus’s shoulder. That image was all the look of a concerned family member, someone who only wanted the _best_ for him and nothing more.

In that manner, she was totally transparent. Vanitas had to admit that she did well at playing the part and trying to appease his other half in that way, but it was _so_ blatantly a façade that he could almost laugh; it was practically oozing off her, the feeling that she didn’t want Vanitas anywhere near her precious castle or her perfect friends. Luckily for her, Ventus was painfully naïve. 

“Aqua, c’mon,” he answered, a slight whine to his voice like a child begging his mother for something. 

In moments like these, Vanitas felt eleven years old and a thousand years old all the same, so close and yet so far from his light with so many experiences stretching out between them, never to be erased. The distance between their lives was so large that Vanitas knew he’d always be left behind in the dust, a child who grew up all-too fast.

No, he didn’t _whine._ Maybe years ago, but it had long been purged from him and replaced with bitter acceptance and strength.

( _At least, that was what Vanitas told himself._ )

Aqua sighed and gave a sideways look to Terra that was met with an idiotic smile and slight shrug of his shoulders. “…If you can convince him.”

“A day.”

Ventus started once again when Vanitas spoke, but instead of looking scared, he looked _elated,_ like he had just gotten the best news of his life. The sheer positivity reeking off of him almost made Vanitas go back on it, but he was mostly confused as to why his light seemed so happy about being around _him._ After a pause, Ventus negotiated, “Come on, at least a few weeks.”

“If you start this shit up again, I won’t stay at all,” Vanitas snarled.

Taking a few dangerous steps closer, Ventus sighed and offered, “A week.”

Vanitas would’ve pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, if not for the fact that he wasn’t willing to reveal his face. He was worn down, so goddamn worn down and tired that he gave in, and he could already hear his master laughing down at him. At the very least, he told himself that he could escape when he had the energy and the lights stopped watching his so intently. “Fucking _fine._ If it’ll make you shut the hell up.”

Despite the insults and the malice, Ventus looked like he had won the lottery, and he turned to Sora with a grin that was reflected back at him. Vanitas truly wondered how he was given a face that could make expressions like that—not that they’d ever be seen on him, his only smiles smug and condescending. While Ventus was turned around, Vanitas strode up to him, despite how it made him even more desperate to claw him open.

“ _Don’t_ make any mistakes, Ventus. I’m not going as a fucking _favor_ for you. Leave me the hell alone and don’t talk to me, or you’ll regret it,” he hissed near Ventus’s ear. “Are we clear?”

Ventus attempted to nod solemnly, but a smile broke out on his face, and Vanitas knew this was going to be a lot more difficult than anticipated… but it was worth it to cause trouble, right?

He didn’t do it for Ventus. It _wasn’t_ the nagging feeling in his chest, it _wasn’t_ those blue eyes, and it _wasn’t_ because he needed assistance. Never.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that, it would become true, and perhaps the void in his chest would stop keening for the help he’d never received.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Affairs are slowly settled, but shadows of doubts still remain on every side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gamers, i'm back!
> 
> i've been sitting on this chapter and trying to fix it up forever, and i think this is as good as it gets -____- the ending might seem a little abrupt, but i had to cut it off otherwise this chapter could've ended up like... 6000 words long when i normally aim for 2500. i have the next chapter about halfway done, so hopefully there won't be as long as a wait for that one! look forward to sora and vanitas interactions then :3c
> 
> i appreciate you guys so much and i'm really grateful for all the comments and kudos <3 i hope you enjoy!

“So, since you finally got that settled after,” Lea looked at his empty wrist as if he had a watch on, eliciting a giggle from someone, “ _forever,_ are we gonna get the rest of us dealt with? Y’know, because we’re homeless?”

Not fazed at all by the slight passive aggressiveness, Aqua gave Lea, Roxas, and Xion a kind look, immediately switching gears from how she had been treating Vanitas. “You’re all more than welcome at the Land of Departure. We have more space than we know what to do with, so it would be nice to have more people there.”

“Fucking hell,” Vanitas muttered to himself; somehow, he’d completely forgotten that he was going to have to factor in even _more_ goddamn variables. As someone who’d spent a majority of his conscious life with only one person for company every handful of weeks, the thought of having to be around even more potential threats made it feel like the walls were closing in on him and he was walking straight into a trap ( _and he probably was_ ). The more people behind his back, the more danger he was in; the more danger he was in, the more pain would result.

His life was a pendulum swinging back and forth, from high to low to high, but the highs only serving to smash him back into the lows even harder. That was the predetermined path of his life, the walls too high to climb out of it, instead always scrabbling for purchase and slipping right back down.

( _At the bottom waited gnarled hands, smeared iron, a hunched back, an unseeing yet all-seeing eye._ )

Though, out of everyone around him… Roxas and Xion seemed _almost_ understanding, like it laid at the very edges of their newborn vision, and Vanitas and Xion had felt that connection that tied them together; it was fragile enough that it would snap if Vanitas pulled hard enough, but perhaps it could be used to his advantage, and she could be used to wind Roxas in as well. Having them as a buffer between him and the permanent inhabitants of the Land of Departure could maybe help him survive that infernal week without either going crazy ( _like he wasn’t already unstable_ ) or getting Aqua’s Keyblade shoved through his ribs.

In particular, if Vanitas got out of there without giving Ventus what he deserved, it would be a success. His goal was once again _so close,_ but he was no longer allowed to look directly at it, instead squinting at the borrowed light of the moon. Any attempt otherwise would invoke Ventus’s loyal, clueless guardians, and Vanitas refused to be taken out by anyone besides Ventus, who was too obsessed with pipe dreams of taming his dark half to entertain any real thoughts of harming him.

By the looks of Lea and his uncharacteristically thoughtful face, though, there was the possibility that neither Roxas nor Xion would be allowed anywhere near his pervasive darkness… which would probably be the smartest thing Lea could ever do.

“Are you sure we won’t be imposing?” Xion piped up in a tentative voice, her arms gently wrapped around her middle like she was still protecting herself from falling apart. Vanitas could see the mark of someone who wasn’t used to existing, to taking up _space_ and navigating the world. 

_Why was he so sure of that?_

Despite the lack of interactions in the new Organization and Xion’s displaced heart, there was still that unexplainable link between them, tying Vanitas down to something he couldn’t quite see without endlessly grappling through the darkness. The connection was nowhere near as unbearable as it was to be tied to Ventus, but he still wanted to pull and pull and _pull_ at the string until one of their hearts unwound—only the stronger could prevail ( _and it always had been, always would be his_ ).

Terra cut in as well, glancing to the side at Aqua briefly. “Of course you won’t be. There’s more space than we know what to do with... and I think it would honor Master Eraqus’s memory to continue to take Keyblade wielders in,” he said, his voice dipping low at the end. Behind the mask, Vanitas grinned, enjoying the obvious guilt that painted Terra’s face; he knew Terra just as well as Ventus did, and this would taint him with darkness forever. No amount of light could ever scrub away the shadowy tendrils wound in the channels of his brain.

( _Vanitas could never, never admit how close their darknesses swam together._ )

Aqua placed a hand on Terra’s upper arm, thumb gently rubbing up and down his skin. The sight sent a shiver of... _something_ down Vanitas’s spine, and he truly wondered how they could handle that much physical contact without preparing for what could come—no, what _would_ come—next.

“Like Terra said, it’s no problem. We’d be happy to have you.”

A small amount of tension drained from Xion’s shoulders, and she nodded while Lea patted her on the back. 

Vanitas didn’t miss the trepidation that was slowly casting shade across Lea’s face, an entire train of thought being dealt out like a card game—was it worth it to follow along where a possible piece of Xehanort was staying when his best friends were at stake, or was it more important to have a stable place to live following the emotional wreckage of a war?

With crossed arms, Vanitas simply watched this play out, always evaluating and trying to figure out what exactly made Lea tick: what he wanted most, what he was working towards, what he cared about besides those two strange anomalies cast in fading light.

“I think we’re all in agreement, then,” Lea announced after only a few breaths of hesitation, placing his hands on both Roxas and Xion’s shoulders once again. There was more of that confusing touch, somehow a representation of protection that Vanitas couldn’t understand—nor did he want to, not with the way it made his skin crawl at the very thought. 

Lea chose the slant of twilight, then. Duly noted and filed away.

“Great! Where are you three going, then?” Aqua asked, clapping her hands together as she turned to Sora, Riku, and Kairi. 

“I think we’re all gonna go home for a little! My mom is gonna kill me,” Sora said in a chipper tone, and Vanitas thought he looked far too excited about that. Was he surprised by the stupidity? Never.

“Then... I might just keep exploring the worlds. I feel too antsy being in one place,” he continued, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet and then back down again, a nervous tic that somehow still encapsulated his soaring personality.

Riku spoke up without missing a beat, “I go where Sora goes,” and Kairi immediately elbowed him with a burst of laughter. On the other side of the room, Roxas looked at Xion and Lea and mimed like he was gagging. 

“After we check in with the Islands, I think I’ll be going back to Merlin for more training,” Kairi said with an honest nod once she had composed herself. “Lea, you gonna come kick it again?”

“Nah. I’ve had enough of getting the shit beat out of me, so I probably won’t get back to it for a while,” Lea answered with a noncommittal wave of his hand, effortlessly maintaining his relaxed façade despite the sag of his eyelids.

“Lazybones,” Kairi teased towards him as she leaned forward, and then she turned back to Aqua with a beaming face. “We’ll have to be sure to visit the Land of Departure sometimes, since you’ll have a full house!”

Aqua shot Kairi another one of those warm, motherly smiles, and Vanitas could feel that connection and trust spread wide and far over worlds and years. “Of course, whenever you want!”

Just another thing to add to the list of weaknesses that could be exploited, which was quickly expanding and broadening as each interaction displayed something new. The lights were so lackadaisical and careless that it was laughable.

_God, why did he ever let them beat him?_

Vanitas was heavily sulking now, arms crossed and shoulders hunched in on himself; part of him knew he was acting like a child, but the dominant part of his mind was agonizing over what was to come. All he could do at the moment, though, was continue berating himself for being so _stupid_ and actually accepting this. How could he be so weak as to give in to Ventus?

As the missing piece, Vanitas was aware he had a far stronger connection to Ventus, able to tune in to him in many ways unique to him ( _and often unwanted_ )—but at that moment, he wondered exactly how much went back and forth. Perhaps his other half found a way to tug at the string and pull him closer, and _that_ was why Vanitas was acting so weak. 

That was the only reasonable explanation because he was _not_ weak; those years and years of training made him strong enough that no one could compare. On his own, he was _~~insecure and unsteady~~_ confident and immovable, steel and heat and gaps filled with concrete.

( _He’d had enough of being cut down long, long ago._ )

“I suppose that settles things. Is there anything else, Yen Sid?” Riku spoke up and asked, turning towards him. 

“For now, the worlds may be at rest, but it is still crucial to be vigilant. As Keyblade wielders, you may be called upon if disturbances are found,” Yen Sid said with his low, gravelly voice and unblinking eyes that _almost_ called back to Keyblades.

At the mention of that, looks were exchanged around the room; after so much struggling, it was obvious that many of the lights thought everything would settle down. That obliviousness and naïveté pissed Vanitas off because he knew there was _always_ something lurking around the corner, an imminent threat that could strike at any moment in any form. 

His very existence was enough proof of that, his eyes representing years and years of scorched earth and foreshadowing the looming return of chaos.

Vanitas wasn’t surprised at all by how everyone shifted right over the subject, returning to their joy about things being over—although if one looked close enough, they could see the shadows that crept across the room. The transition was so effortless that before he could even speak up with sharp syllables, he was interrupted once again.

“I guess that means we actually get to go!” Kairi chirped, clapping her hands together once as she bounced on her heels. All Vanitas could do was scoff, roll his eyes, and inch towards the door.

“Home…” Sora intoned softly, and the grin that spread on his face made _Vanitas’s_ cheeks hurt just from the sight. Hints of tears gathered at his waterline, and he was joined with a small sniffle from Kairi.

“Home!” she cheered gently, wiping at her eyes with her wrist. “Home, Riku!”

“Yeah,” Riku agreed, a somewhat shaky smile on his face. “For _real._ Not just waiting for Xehanort…”

Vanitas scoffed once more at this display, turning to the side and crossing his arms. Yes, he was coerced into staying, but he didn’t agree to deal with this emotional bullshit—maybe Ventus and Sora had their own ideas in their heads, but Vanitas was _not_ there to make friends. That was the last thing he wanted out of this, people prying more into him and trying to dissect him like some sort of experiment, just like he had always been. 

The only way anyone could make anything remotely friendship-worthy out of him would be by tearing him apart at the seams, replacing each piece with new fabric and thread until nothing more of Vanitas remained; he was a patchwork of features that could never exist in a world like theirs. 

Vanitas was immediately struck by the feeling of Ventus glaring at him, and he rolled his eyes and waved a condescending hand at him. Maybe, just _maybe,_ he would play nice for a little—as nice as he could be, which was still fire and venom and teeth—but that didn’t include any of the wishy-washy touchy-feely friendship bullshit that he had been feeling secondhand for too many years. 

“If that’s it, then I’m off,” he said in a lofty voice, his dismissive hand now directed towards the whole room. Without a hint of hesitation in his stride, he made his way to the door of Yen Sid’s study; he was unimpeded the whole way, like the occupants of the room were too mentally occupied to stop him ( _or they probably would rather see him go far, far away_ ). 

That was until a hand looped around his wrist: not too tightly, yet still firm enough to assert that it existed solidly. “Vanitas,” came a voice so tempered that it made his skin crawl, “you—”

The attempt at outreach was instantly drowned out as Vanitas reacted just like he had been trained to for all that goddamn time. It was mere instinct to twist the bearer’s weak grip and arm the wrong way until there was an audible crack and a sharp yelp, and then Ventus was met with a broken wrist and a Keyblade directed straight at his chest. 

( _Right where a rift in the flesh lay, the fraternal twin of one splitting the darkness apart._ )

In an instant, there was another flurry of motion that seemed as if it had been coordinated and practices a million times, a joint effort seamlessly executed to protect that precious light.

“Vanitas,” was bit out in a tone a million miles away from the previous intonation of his other half. “Step. _Away._ ”

The points of blue and brown resting on both sides of his mask did nothing to deter him, Vanitas’s eyes locked onto Ventus like he had never looked at anything else. 

And he hadn’t, really.

“Ventus,” the name slithered out from his mouth like every other time, laced with burning poison yet caressed like porcelain, “Try that again, and it’ll be your whole arm.”

As valiantly as Ventus seemed to be resisting it, Vanitas could feel the fear that danced down the connection between their hearts, and he could see it reflected in his eyes so clearly. There was pain, too, obvious in the way Ventus’s hand shook uncontrollably, his wrist cradled against his chest and shielded by the other. That, however, paled in comparison to everything Vanitas stood for. 

He delighted in that, another one of those accursed feral grins twisting his lips in a lopsided way; the sight would certainly have driven Ventus’s guardians to finish what they had started, but luckily enough for Vanitas, it was shielded, just like every other facet of him. “Scared, Ventus?”

He recognized the motion of his light chewing on the inside of his cheek, one he had learned over and over and over for years until he tasted blood more often than not. “Y-you promised,” Ventus said, his voice as even as manageable. 

“I did no such goddamn thing, idiot,” Vanitas hissed in return. “You know perfectly well that promises mean _nothing_ to me. I said I’d _grace_ your tainted castle with my presence, and there’s nothing more than that.”

“Weren’t you leaving? Like, actually...”

After an incredibly agitated sigh, Vanitas dismissed his Keyblade, letting his hand fall back to his side. Aqua and Terra’s weapons predictably stayed where they were, which was wise, given that his hand was already itching for the weight of it again. 

He ruefully spat out an admission of, “I was going to the stupid ship so I wouldn’t have to listen to this bullshit anymore.”

God, it could be _so_ easy to leave, to wave his hand and fall through a welcoming corridor like his existence—but his exhaustion pervaded, weighing heavy on his chest and numbing the things he was supposed to have complete control over. 

“Couldn’t you just use a corridor to go to the Land of Departure on your own?”

Infuriatingly, Riku somehow predicted exactly what he was thinking, and Vanitas briefly wondered if he’d spoken aloud. 

He tensed up the barest amount, not willing to admit how goddamn tired he was, to show how weak he had become in front of these opponents. They could never know that he was inferior in any way. 

( _Yes, he could see the exhaustion set in everyone’s shoulders, but he was different—stronger, better._ )

His mind quickly fumbled for an excuse, eventually reaching out and grasping a train of thought that stood out between the _~~light~~_ white noise that constantly clouded his brain.

“Oh, little Venty-Wenty would be afraid that I’d run away, wouldn’t he?” Vanitas replied in a simpering voice; luckily, the pause between Riku’s question and his retort was so small that no one questioned it. 

Ventus’s mouth turned down a little, but he was wise enough to not reply and start an argument, instead turning to Aqua, who immediately got rid of her Keyblade to fuss over that stupid _child_ who had never known real pain.

Satisfied, Vanitas swatted Terra’s Keyblade to the side before crossing his arms across his chest ( _no, he wasn’t holding himself_ ). “Have fun with your pathetic drivel,” he quipped, turning and walking out the study’s gnarled door in a way that he hoped didn’t make him come off like a petulant child. 

The heavy door swinging back into its place reverberated through his skull, and Vanitas wished more than anything that the door was closing on the painful parts of his life.


End file.
